


Love in Moderately Distant Places

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, First Time, Hostage Situation, M/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:26:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 69,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the following kinkme_merlin prompt: <i>In a way of escaping his life for a moment, twenty-two year old Arthur Pendragon flees to Rome (I could also live with Paris) for a three week vacation. There he meets the lively Merlin, who is as infuriating as he is intoxicating. One week long they have a fiery affair, in which Arthur feels more alive than he has ever been.</i><br/>And then Merlin has to leave. Because of some idiotic rule Merlin has, he leaves Arthur with no personal contacts and no way of ever getting back in contact with him again. No need to ruin the perfect memories.<br/>But Arthur wouldn't be Arthur if he left it at that, and once he is back home he is determined to find Merlin and keep him in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in Moderately Distant Places

**Author's Note:**

> So kindly beta'd by Vesperdivum

It was three in the afternoon by the time Arthur landed in Rome. He checked into his hotel in Via Veneto some time later, definitely later than he'd thought he would.

The taxi transfer had seemed to take such a long time since he'd got stuck in traffic before he could even make out the desultory shape of the city, the motorway ringing Rome clogged up like an artery that refused to work. 

As soon as he got to his room, he unpacked, changed into fresher clothes, and put his books on the nightstand by the bed. 

When everything was as he liked it, he went and pulled the heavy damask curtains aside to have a look at the busy street downstairs.

He breathed and the clear surface misted over with condensation. A little rainbow shone through it and glimmered in a whirl of colours, like the wings of a butterfly. It seemed to bode well. He smudged it with his nails, and tapped it with a veined knuckle.

Still not quite satisfied, he drew a face in the condensation, a smiling face with an upturned mouth and crinkling eyes. The shape that came out, though, made him frown with its lightness and its stupid mindless good-humour. 

Not able to stand looking at it as it was, he changed it, pulled down the corners of its mouth and traced a line on the imaginary round of its forehead. When he was done, he wrote in the condensation, using only one finger, spelling out the word “Shame.”

He barked a laugh at his drawing, shook his head with a measure of self-commiseration, and wiped it off. 

Before going out he changed his shoes. Harsh leather loafers weren't the best choice if he wanted to trek around the city, if he wanted to give his muscles a long awaited work-out and let his thoughts be drowned in the physical effort.

At a good pace, he climbed up the street so he could reach Villa Borghese. 

It was too late in the afternoon to see the art gallery housed in the park, so he just strolled through, sitting on a bench while he waited for his heartbeat to settle into a calm cadence, watching life unfurl, people go about their business: mothers with kids, joggers with earphones stuck in their ears, couples who walked hand in hand.

Arthur relaxed against the bench, a faint aroma of wood wafting up to his nose. He could smell the pine cones scattered around his perch even without lifting them or touching them. It was pleasant. 

As he idled, plump birds, probably used to being fed and therefore undeterred by his presence, strutted close to him and picked at the ground.

Arthur breathed in; the air was a touch purer here, the taint from exhaust fumes he'd found at the foot of the hill now rarefied. It cemented the idea that this spot was not merely beautiful but wholesome too. Though the beauty of it didn't fail to strike him either. 

The shadows on the marble statues were mellowing their contours and tingeing them orange and purple. Nature seemed to relish in the free rein given it, away from the spread of cement and mortar the Eternal City had become.

Flowers opened up to his sight and made him relish in their colour burst.

When the panorama lit up with gold at sunset, Arthur pushed off his bench and ambled along the paths, taking in the fountains and statuary, the general look of the place. 

When he grew tired of the greenery, he left the park behind and took a little street that got him above Trinità dei Monti.

As far as he could given the number of people dotting the spot, he jogged down the well-worn Spanish Steps, which were lined with azalea bushes and crowded by swarms of people, some of whom were sitting rather than moving. 

Arthur felt their bodies all around him, pressing in, and for a moment couldn't breathe, not until he'd cleared the steps and gained the busy piazza.

Horse-drawn carriages were huddled on one side of the square, locked in a face-off with a taxi rank; at the bottom of the steps vendors were hawking wares spread out on blankets: they ranged from cheap belts and pricey metal jewellery to souvenirs that went from the cute to the rather tacky. 

He coasted a side of the square, slipping into Via dei Condotti to stare rather mindlessly at its pricey boutiques. 

He stopped in front of one, thinking for a moment of getting Morgana something. Bulgari seemed to be in line with her style and taste but he dawdled on the step in, fashionistas elbowing him aside. 

As he lingered undecided, he ended up wondering whether the present would be welcome, what she'd think of him, if she'd consider the offer a way to buy peace and understanding. An olive branch leaving the after taste of a bribe. 

And for what? 

He moved on, this time consulting the map he'd secured for himself, taking Via del Corso. By now he admitted to himself that he had no aim and was just wandering around, trying to get a feel for his new environment.

He found himself intent on studying the people he brushed shoulders with, the streets, the way Rome seemed blissfully different from home. 

Architecturally to begin with. The city seemed to be painted in ochre, pink, and yellow colours that tumbled into reds. It seemed to be basking in a sun that wasn't technically there. Not today.

It was different in terms of the mood it sparked in him, too. He could shut his eyes and believe he'd just stepped into a reality that wasn't the one he'd left behind.

It felt good though he was aware of the mental construct the pleasant sensation was based on. Still, absence from home was already doing him good and he decided he'd take this for what it was. That he'd stop second guessing himself.

He smiled even though he did it with the wariness of someone who wasn't used to taking things lightly. He proceeded with a spring to his step. 

Until thunder rattled the sky. Within half a second, a bright flash of lightning lit up the horizon. Rain drops started slapping the asphalt, working themselves up to a steady, persistent downpour that got Arthur drenched to the bone before he'd managed to say, “Shit.” 

The people who, just like him, were caught out in the street rushed to find cover under awnings or porticoes.

Arthur had a sigh in his breast and let it out. “Fuck.”

Clothes already sticking to him, he dived into a coffee place in Piazza del Popolo, the rain pounding onto the smoothly worn pavement behind him and swirling into the gutter.

Once he was safe inside, he pulled off his damp jacket and raked back his wet hair. Then scanned the place for free tables.

Since many people had had the same idea as him, he had a hard time finding one, but at length, and when he was already despairing, he did. It was a corner booth, a coat rack hanging over the plush bench and making it less than coveted seating. Arthur sank into his seat with gusto all the same and started reviewing the situation.

He was wet and shivering but the place was cosy and warming him up.

On the other hand, his map was like a wet ball of paper, ink smudged, challenging him to find his hotel again, and his clothes were still dripping water onto the upholstery. 

He was probably a bit of a sorry sight too, his jacket looking like a crumpled rag as it lay draped over the back of his seat, while his shirt stuck to his chest in patches, looking like fine transparent gauze and showing the outline of nipples stiffened by the chill. It was a bit embarrassing. 

Feeling grossly under-dressed, Arthur hailed a waiter with as straight a face as he could muster, and ordered a cup of barley coffee and a slice of cake in more than halting Italian.

The waiter noted everything down, put his frayed notepad back in his trousers pocket, hugged the empty tray to his chest and said, “You'll get your order in a minute, sir.” Then he turned around and called out to another waiter, “Merlin, c'è un tizio inglese qua. Vieni a dare una mano, va.”

The second waiter, this Merlin person, was hidden from view by a large ornamental plant. One whose leaves were so big they were like a partition curtain.

Having a feeling he himself represented the short end of the waiterly stick Arthur looked at the spot where Merlin was, at least to try and understand why this person had been assigned to him, but lost interest when the man failed to move and reveal himself.

Instead, Arthur wrested his guidebook out from his jacket pocket and skipped to the last pages, where he found the glossary. Learning Italian idioms could turn out to be useful, given how things were going.

He was trying the words out under his breath, not really expelling any sound, when he felt the shock. 

A hot gooey substance trickled down his chest and scalded him. Unable to help himself, he jumped up, easing the fabric away from his skin and keeping it pinched between thumb and index finger. That was when he noticed the large dribble of microwave-hot custard streaking down his shirt and the large chunk of cake that rolled off him and on the floor. 

“Oh God, I'm so, so sorry,” the Merlin person said in unmistakeably Welsh tones. “I didn't mean to. God, sorry. Can I help you get rid of...”

“You could have paid more attention before,” Arthur said, but all curses and accusations died on his lips when Merlin's looks registered. Merlin's earnest blue eyes, now sparkling with embarrassment and, his soft lips, shaped into a rueful grin were really a sight for sore eyes.

Merlin's pleasant grin, however, fell. “Hey, I said I was sorry.”

“I know,” said Arthur, staring at the man, at how he straightened and widened his stance, failing to come up with anything more polite. Like 'apology accepted.'

It wasn't a good day for his verbal skills.

“Um,” Merlin bounced on balls of his feet. “The cake's on the house?”

“Well, I can't eat it anymore, can I?” Arthur said, biting his tongue immediately. He hadn't meant to say that. Though his shirt was now done for and the burn was making his skin itch, he hadn't really meant to sound sarcastic. Or angry, really. He wasn't for some reason.

“Come on, chill,” Merlin said, trying a smile again, though his stance was still that of a strutting cock in the pen. “I'll get you another slice. And you still have your coffee. And I'll get you free pralines... Chocolate pralines.”

“I don't believe pralines are going to make up for the damage,” said Arthur, though he was returning the smile now. “And think of it this way. I'll have to walk all the way back to my hotel looking like this.” He pointed at his ruined shirt.

Merlin burst out laughing, a genuine peal of it. There was nothing angry or cynical about the sound. It was the kind of laughter that shook you when you were picturing something funny that nobody got or the kind that overtook you when someone spat out a sudden humorous aside. 

His laughter was contagious, tickling at Arthur's ribcage and making him huff under his breath to stifle a rush of giggling of his own. It was a joyous little noise.

As pleasant as it was, the laughter was also loud enough to be overheard by anyone who cared. 

A man exuding a certain air of authority, one that was backed up by his not wearing the waiter uniform while wielding a kind of tablet thanks to which he tackled orders, frowned at Merlin. 

“Merlin,” he said and then he spat out a string of words Arthur didn't understand but was sure were part of an epic telling off. 

Merlin looked from his boss to Arthur in a clearly panicked way. “Please tell my boss it's all okay,” he asked Arthur. “I'll make up for it if you do, I swear.”

Merlin's pleading eyes were not something you could easily say no to. Arthur hesitated only for a moment and only to get more of that earnestness directed at him. “Okay, all right,” he said. 

Merlin's eyes brightened and the corners of his lips lifted. 

On an impromptu whim, Arthur added, “See what you're making me do? While I'm the injured party!”

Merlin snorted, though amiably enough.

While Merlin mopped up, Arthur went up to Merlin's boss and explained why he wasn't bothered with the incident and Merlin in particular. “Really, it could have happened to anyone,” he said. “I don't mind.”

Merlin's boss looked less than pleased but since Arthur meant it, he relented. “Merlin should apologise,” he said. 

“He has,” said Arthur.

“That boy,” Merlin's boss said with a sigh, “he's always like this and always getting out of it, because he's....” He flailed his hand about, making Arthur curious but unwilling to press. “I'll let it be this time, sir. Just for you.”

Arthur was sure it wasn't just 'for him' but didn't say anything. He deemed the battle won and safely retreated back to his place, where he found a new plate bedecked with fresh slices of cake, a chocolate one having been added to his original order, a pile of pralines wrapped in shiny paper, and a glass of dense Limoncello. 

Arthur smiled and settled down to eat. He was into his second slice when Merlin came back, tapping an empty salver against his leg.

“If you come to the back when you're finished,” he said in a lilt, pointing his thumb in the right direction, “I'll give you one of my shirts. I always keep more than one change. So you won't have to have your walk of shame back to your hotel.”

“I couldn't,” Arthur said. “I can't take a shirt from you. I wouldn't know how to return it.”

Merlin scratched at his nose. “I could--” He faltered a bit, voice going down then up like a tonal roller-coaster. “I could give you my number.”

Arthur's next bite went down the wrong pipe. He hurried to gulp down some liquid but in his hurry he got hold of the liqueur instead of the coffee. Breath whooshed out of him thanks to the alcoholic sucker punch. “Was choking,” Arthur gasped, pummelling his chest. "'m all right."

Merlin slapped him on the back to help him swallow, looking all concerned, his eyes large with worry, the dimple in his cheeks disappearing.

“It's nothing,” Arthur said as his coughing slowed. 

Merlin was no longer clapping him on the back, but his hand hadn't moved, and was massaging him in smooth circles. “At this rate, people will start to think I'm trying to kill you.”

Arthur's felt his cheeks prickle with heat. “Only in a very ACME way. You know the cartoons?” he supplied, fearing Merlin hadn't caught the reference.

Merlin sniffled a laugh. “I loved those. So are you the Road Runner?”

“I'm certainly the smart one.” 

“I see.” Merlin's hand moved from his back to his wrist. His fingers still covering Arthur's pulse point, he scanned the café; the rain had stopped and the number of customers trickling in had dwindled. “Come to the back. Now that there's a lull.”

Arthur didn't hesitate in following Merlin down the café floor, up two steps, down another two and past a set of folding doors. Beyond a mezzanine Arthur found two separate areas marked out by doors, a kitchen, the sweet odour of various confections drifting up to his nose, and a room marked, “Personale.”

Merlin led him in there. It was a white-washed room with a backless bench sitting in the middle. Lockers fronted the walls and Merlin opened one of them with the assurance of someone who could call it his own. 

After having moved aside what looked like a gym bag, a pile of books and a pair of suspiciously dirty looking socks, he rooted inside it. At last he grabbed something that made him say, “Here it is.”

Having shut the locker door to, he handed Arthur a black shirt with a green logo on it. It looked like the kind of garment you'd buy as a memento of a concert. When you were wasted. And doped. Generally under the influence. Arthur had worn shirts like this when he still went to school and hadn't managed to accumulate enough stubble to actually shave. He wrinkled his nose. “It won't fit me,” he said.

Merlin snickered. “You're transparent, you know.”

“Am I?”

Merlin wagged his eyebrows. “Yeah.” 

This time it was Arthur's neck that went hot. He shifted his weight, balled the lent shirt up, noticed what he'd done with it, and smoothed it back out. 

Merlin's eyes still on him, Arthur started popping open the buttons of his shirt, not caring if he sent one flying in his rather heated haste. It was not as if he could wash off the kind of buttery custard that had stained his shirt anyway. It was a goner. 

Now that it was bared, Merlin's eyes latched onto his torso. He swallowed and stepped back, then forwards. “When I said I'd pay you back....”

Merlin's shirt got stuck around Arthur's nose. Arthur tensed, muscles bunching, waiting for Merlin's next words, fearing they wouldn't come. He let out a big breath, pulling down the hem when he got the feeling Merlin would finish. 

Which he did: “I think... I couldn't help noticing your map and guide book. And I've been living here for... It's been six months now, sort of amazing, if you think about it, but...” Merlin took a breath, leaving Arthur stunned about his power to rattle words off, “But I could show you around. Be your Cicerone. Skip all the touristy places and get you to see... dunno. The Rome I know.”

Arthur should have said no. He didn't know this man from Adam and though he didn't think Merlin had any bad intentions of any sort, he himself wasn't the type to strike up holiday acquaintances that wouldn't last beyond the span of a few hours or days, the only proof of their existence a trail of Facebook friendships you wondered the wisdom of keeping six months down the line.

He never put himself out there this way. He wasn't cut out of that kind of cloth. He preferred to surround himself with people whose trust he had. 

But Merlin's eyes lit a kind of nervous excitement in the very marrow of him, something pricking at his nerve endings and pushing at his skin from inside out, as if it wanted out and his body was a cage. 

Arthur felt himself floating on a diaphanous cloud; his heart lurching as if after a great electric shock. 

Merlin's eyes blazing at him with intent, the shape of him lingered on Arthur's retinas, on his senses. 

And he wanted to retain a sense of that for a while longer.

Twisting a smile out of Merlin, he said, “Yes, show me Rome.”

 

**** 

 

Arthur waited for Merlin's shift to be over, sipping coffee, which in itself was not a very wise move because it was priming him for action, making him eager for movement while all he could do was wait and get nervous. 

He poured milk into his coffee to diminish the caffeine ratio and turned the energy acquired thanks to imbibing stimulants into watching Merlin serve tables. 

Merlin was pretty quick on his feet, sometimes too quick. It was as if he, too, was storing some kind of manic energy he was pouring into a series of acts that should have been routine by now but came across as anything but. 

His movements were jerky, excitable. More than once he spilled liquids, offering a smile in apology while he mopped up the mess with too big hands and stick-out elbows.

He was nervy. He bounded across the floor with big grins and strides that were larger than life and all-over-the place. 

Merlin had the grace of the graceless too, though. His body was lithe and nicely formed, long limbed in the way of boys – though he wasn't one anymore. It had the gangly, ugly beautiful poise of the awkwardly endearing.

Arthur was still staring when Merlin hung up his apron and came over to him, his step bouncy. “Okay, I'm done for tonight.”

Arthur pushed away his cup; he'd had more than enough and wanted nothing better than to visit the city with Merlin.

To begin with Merlin took him to the Pincio Terrace. It overlooked Piazza del Popolo, and from there, as Merlin promised, you could see the whole of Rome. 

“Almost.”

And it was true. Pale marble and cascading greenery surrounded him in the approaching dusk. 

From a prime spot Merlin chose for him Arthur saw the intersecting streets below him. As the light of the dying sun touched it and painted it purple, he took in the dome of St Peter's. Its ghostly, angel-wing whiteness turned to an unrelieved grey as the light progressively dimmed. 

Between them glided the Tiber, murky and polluted most likely, but still impressive as it meandered its way across the city. 

The statues looming behind him like silent guardians made him shiver and he had to focus on the business of the hour, the people bustling about, the general hustle of the streets, to get rid of that sense of eeriness, of past bygones nearly touching him. 

Dinner time approaching, the Square was suddenly lit and that too dispelled that air of guarded stateliness the city had briefly assumed. Though those lights were not glaring, more of a mellow yellow, they did cut soft circles of brightness out of the monuments, making them appear nearly alive.

“I think I know why you took me here,” said Arthur.

Merlin tapped his hand on the marble balustrade and craned his head just a tad. “Really, why did I?”

“Not because of the view.”

“Why I got you the Vatican. And the angle is nice too,” said Merlin, “plenty of photo opportunities.”

“Yes,” said Arthur, striving to find the words to try and explain his hunch, “but I think you brought me here because it's eerie. It feels like time can stand still here.”

Merlin neither confirmed nor denied. “They say you could see the Campagna from here once,” he said instead, barely hiding a chuckle in his fist. “Two hundred years ago. Actually, this was the spot where Ruskin met his beggar.”

“What beggar?” asked Arthur more for the sake of hearing Merlin's soft, lilting tones than of being made aware of the Ruskin deal.

“The one who begged something of Ruskin every day. Here on these steps.” Merlin ground his foot in the gravel as if to signify 'right here'. “He always got something. So apparently the poor fellow was grateful. Very much so. Things being that way, he one day decided to show just how grateful he was.” Merlin's voice became warmer. “He caught Ruskin's hand as he stretched it out for alms giving and kissed it.” 

Merlin in story-teller mode had a charm to him that was drawing Arthur in more and more. “Mr. Ruskin stopped short and, well, it could have been the surprise or something else, but he snatched his hand hastily away, and kissed the beggar's cheek instead.”

“Is this a love story waiting to happen?” Arthur asked.

Merlin clamped his lips together in the way people are trying not to laugh do. “Nah, it's a simple story this one. No grand romance between Ruskin and his beggar. The beggar just went to find Ruskin in his chambers--”

“You're not helping your case,” Arthur pointed out.

Merlin did chuckle then, short and diverted. Shaking his head, he continued, “To gift him with a holy relic from Assisi.”

“Assisi,” Arthur said, “It's north of here, right?”

“Some, yeah,” Merlin said. “Kind of beautiful.”

“I'd like to go.”

“You like churches?”

Arthur angled himself towards Merlin. “Yeah, yes I do.”

“You needn't go as far as Assisi to see one,” said Merlin.

“I suspect Rome has its fair share of churches, what with the Vatican and--” Arthur began.

Merlin interrupted him, leaning closer while wearing a complicit air. “I can show you one. I mean a good one. One that will send shivers down your spine.”

“In a way the Vatican won't?”

“I think so, yeah.” Merlin said. “Everybody goes to see St Peter's. But this place is different. Out of the way and almost forgotten. It's the underdog of Roman churches. But it's not any less steeped in history.”

Merlin had an enthusiasm of his own that burned really bright. Arthur wasn't sure what it was directed at or if he'd fanned it at all. It probably had little to do with quaint churches. But he couldn't tell for sure what had put it in place. He wanted to stay close to find out if he'd contributed to Merlin's mood. He honestly didn't want to cut the evening to a close. “Take me,” he said.

Merlin turned so he was giving his shoulders to the vista. He crossed his ankles, body open and relaxed, though somehow listing closer to him. “Are you ready for a long underground trip and lots and lots of walking?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it's a deal.” With Merlin's change of position, Arthur had to cock his head to keep him in sight. “So presumably, I can look forward to spending the next few hours with you then?” 

“Yeah,” said Merlin. “Quite a few.”

As Merlin pointed out odd city highlights, they walked back to Piazza di Spagna to board the underground. Wanting to get a better idea of where he was and where he was going, Arthur checked the underground map that was freely handed out but Merlin binned it. “There's two Metro lines.” He tapped the side of his temple. “And I know all the stops by heart, come on.”

They sat next to each other as a number of high sounding stop names mostly reminiscent of the glories of the Roman empire were called.

When they got to the stop they wanted, Merlin grabbed him by the sleeve of his half-ruined jacket and led him out the train and the station, escorting him down a large thoroughfare that looked modern, nondescript, and not at all characteristic of the city he'd seen so far.

“This church of mine is a bit suburban,” Merlin said.

As they walked, they bumped shoulders, Merlin with a bounce in his step, Arthur faithfully following until Merlin pushed him up a steep incline leading up the side of a hill. 

After a while and a little shorter of breath than before, they came in view of a relatively tiny church that had an unassuming brick façade and a sloping roof. A little unsophisticated bell tower loomed behind the mass of the edifice. 

Compared to the baroque effusions of the city centre, this was a squat and simple building. It stood perched precariously on its slope and looked mighty old, as though it had been there for such a long time it needn't any decoration to stake a claim on this knoll. As though it didn't need to make any excuses for its stoic exterior.

“This is the Borgo San Lazzaro church,” said Merlin as if he was unveiling a creation of his. “During the Middle Ages French pilgrims stopped here to pray in one of the little chapels inside. Pilgrimage style. The church itself was built in the 1110s as a personal thank you to God on the part of a doctor who was healed from a bad case of leprosy.” Merlin shrugged his shoulders. “Or so the story goes.”

“Oh,” Arthur said, taking a look at the Romanesque church looming in the dark. “It's... breathtaking.”

“Yeah.” Merlin grinned. “It's like taking a plunge into the past.” He winked at Arthur and then he did something entirely surprising. He knocked on the ancient wooden door.

“What are you doing?” Arthur hissed. 

Merlin turned, wearing a grin. He continued to hammer on the door with the flat of his hand as if that was the done thing around here. Noticing, Arthur's mild discomfort he said, “No worries. I know people.”

Arthur wasn't sure what to believe. His mouth had dipped open at Merlin's behaviour, fully expecting the police to be called on them for disrupting the peace of the neighbourhood. He stayed gaping until an old man wearing friar robes opened the creaky door. 

“Merlin,” the old man said. “I have no more news for you.”

Merlin waved his hand about as if to lightly dismiss the assumption, but his lips tightened just as his eyes slipped half shut for a second. He hadn't been waiting for that titbit, Arthur wagered. Despite the momentary set-back, he soon recovered his good-humour. It was as if nothing had happened and no shadow had ever crossed his face. “Come on, Gaius, I've made a new friend and I wanted to show him the frescoes.”

“The church is closed, Merlin,” Gaius said, “The doors being shut should have been an indication of that.”

“Oh, please, Gaius. Arthur is a special friend.”

“Come back on Sunday,” Gaius said, eyebrows shooting up in the way of stern school teachers.

“I don't even know if Arthur'll be in town on Sunday!” Merlin said in protest.

“Merlin.” Arthur stepped between Merlin and Gaius, drawing the latter's eyes to him. “Let's not intrude upon the kind--” Arthur fumbled for the right words to describe Gaius' priestly function. He wasn't well versed in the ranks of the Catholic church and failed, trailing off.

Despite that, Gaius seemed mollified by Arthur's display of politeness and threw the door wider. Open. “All right,” he said, “I suppose the frescoes are worth a nightly trip, but Merlin--”

“Yeah, yeah,” Merlin said, pre-empting something that felt like a nascent rant. “No more nightly visits.” 

As if he hadn't just been told off, albeit mildly and in the way of grandfathers putting up with recalcitrant kids, Merlin took Arthur by the wrist and led him down the nave, leaving Gaius behind.

He came to a halt by the main altar and asked Arthur to wait there. He dove into an adjacent room Gaius probably used to work in and came back bearing a torch. He shone it along the line of the apse.

The frescoes were partly ruined but even so they shone in bright colours in spots, an allegory of blue, golds and mythical themes Arthur's modern mind could barely decipher.

“It's beautiful,” Arthur said after a few minutes silent contemplation, lost in the beauty of the art piece. “Truly beautiful.”

While Arthur had been lost in his contemplative fresco gazing, Merlin had strayed for a while, pacing down the nave, but he came back by Arthur's side in time to hear his words. As if he'd known that Arthur wanted to share his sense of wonder at the beauties he'd been introduced to.

Merlin dimpled. “I knew you'd like it.”

“I have no idea how you knew I would, but thank you for showing me this place. I'd never have thought of it by myself. Not even after consulting a thousand travel guides.”

Merlin cocked his head at him, a grin twisting the corner of his lips. “I just thought to myself, he may look ordinary but there's something about him, right there under the surface. I'm sure he'd like to experience something real.”

Arthur couldn't focus on the second part of Merlin's statement for the attention he was lending the former. “So I look ordinary,” he said, arching an eyebrow. He couldn't help the clipped tone either.

Merlin flailed his hands about, thankfully he'd slipped the torch in his jeans' back pocket or he'd have caused plenty damage to either Arthur or himself. “No, no what I meant to say is that you look like a business person, not a...” Merlin grimaced and changed tack. “You're wearing a suit, or the remains of one, to do your sightseeing.” Merlin saw how his words weren't helping making him sound less insulting and finished on a breathless, “You're beautiful.”

Arthur's laugh ricocheted off the nave walls. “You're pulling my leg now.”

“No,” said Merlin, in an alarmed screech. “God, don't you know? You have to know. You're just...” Merlin's hand gestures became quicker. “Handsome,” he said. His shoulders dipped. “And now I suppose I've blown my chances of getting you to eat out with me later?”

“Why would you suppose that?”

“Well, because you're either still thinking I’m pulling your leg or I've successfully convinced you that I'm sad and pathetic for thinking of you the way I do and telling you to your face.”

Arthur's heart had taken a sudden leap at Merlin's words. All night Merlin had been friendly and tactile, a flirty edge to all his dealings with Arthur. But Arthur hadn't known whether that was just his nature or if Merlin meant his flirting as an opening salvo that would lead to more.

Not knowing how to gauge Merlin, he'd just gone with the flow and followed him around. However uncertain the outcome and even though he hadn't known what would come of it, he'd done so, a dare-devilish (and seldom heard) little voice inside his head nudging him on. And he hadn't regretted a moment so far. 

With Merlin it felt as though everything was possible and just that little bit extraordinary. Special. With him Arthur felt on the edge of a tempting abyss. It was an exhilarating sensation. Especially this not knowing what was going to happen next. He'd never exactly lived his life like this. Now he wanted to find out what it was like. “If you're not being funny, then I can live with you finding me beautiful.”

“I was hoping you could find it in you to be flattered,” said Merlin with none of the smoothness a pass like his should have necessitated and with all the genuine simplicity of someone who meant what he was saying. 

It was more than disarming.

“I'll just say yes to dining out with you then,” Arthur said. “And won't admit to being flattered. You'd think me vain if I did.”

“Now I see that you are a bit vain though.”

“Do you still want to dine out with me?”

“Yeah.” Merlin nodded his head. “Why? Changed your mind?”

“I will if you tease me.”

Merlin edged closer; the tips of his shoes touching the tips of Arthur's. “But teasing you is fun.” While Arthur tried his best too look stoic and ticked off, Merlin's grin flattened. “I promise I won't tease you too much though.”

“Glib,” Arthur said. “Do you do this often? With men?”

Merlin didn't play it as if he hadn't understood. “If I do, I always mean it.”

Arthur didn't stay and parse that; he didn't want to. How often Merlin did this. How many people he'd courted with his bright smile and touching words. He wanted to rush headlong into this night with him without racking his brain about it. Arthur wanted not to miss a moment of this night. He wanted to risk everything. 

After they'd said their goodbye to Gaius, Arthur let himself be chaperoned around the city again, the night theirs.

When they got tired of their wandering around, Merlin found them a quiet nook at a Trattoria. They were served even if it was almost close to one am. 

They ate nothing that was typical, because Merlin insisted on that. “If you ask for tourist fare, you'll get tourist fare. It's not as good.”

“You sound like you've been living here long,” said Arthur over a plate of perfectly roasted, perfectly salted artichokes. 

“In Rome?” Merlin asked, as he dipped the tip of a pointy leaf into his mouth and sucked the olive oil off it. 

“In Italy.”

“Not really,” said Merlin vaguely. “A year more or less. I was in the North for a while. And Morocco before that.”

Arthur didn't want to push it but he couldn't refrain from asking at least one more question. “In pursuit of a job?”

“No,” said Merlin. “No. Jobs are more like a way of getting by.” Merlin fell silent, chewing with great dedication at the softer inside leaves of his artichoke. When he was finished, only the spikiest leaves left, he opened the menu, his finger going down the list to track the entries. He pointed at one. “Look, they have my favourite dessert. We should get that. You'll see. Pastry cream, pine nuts and icing sugar on top.”

Arthur leant back in his chair, his shoulders tensing. With a tight smile he said, “Have at it.”

Merlin did order that particular delicacy and did eat with some relish though he didn't finish, playing with his fork for a while after he was done. He cut whorls and twirly lines in the sugar dusting while Arthur stayed silent. At last, he put his hands on his stomach and said, “I'm too full.”

They fiddled with the coffees they were served to cap their dinner off, Merlin starting to babble about the wisdom of drinking his when it was already so late. “I'll never sleep. Not for two whole days.”

Arthur tinkered with the stem of his glass. “How about you not sleeping?" he dared, not comfortable with the silence from before but not wanting to give up on the subtle promise that was Merlin. "How about you spending the rest of the night with me?”

Merlin lowered his eyes but smiled. “Yeah, staying up with you is going to burn off all this coffee energy.”

“Are we only staying up to greet the dawn?” Arthur's fingers curled around the base of the glass. Shit, he hadn't been subtle. He was usually classier than this.

“No,” Merlin said. “Not just that.”

Thank the Lord Merlin was one to cut to the chase too.

Merlin lived way away from the city centre. “Couldn't afford Central Rome even if I won the lottery,” he said. “You'll have to make do with the southern suburbs.” 

They got to Merlin's place some two bus changes later, after having had to wait at a lonely stop for the longest time. 

While they were in public Arthur had time to cool down and curb his desire to touch Merlin, honourably keeping his hands to himself. But when they got to Merlin's door Arthur couldn't wait. Not even for him to open it.

He grabbed Merlin by the hips, backed him against the door, and drew him into a kiss, opening his mouth slowly. Their kiss got messy and deep quite quickly, Merlin leaning his head back with abandon and letting Arthur plunder his mouth. 

It wasn't exactly a surprise, but Merlin was a very good kisser, the kind of good kisser that made Arthur go soft at the knees or maybe in the head. 

Whichever of the two it was, Arthur knew a moment of mindless lust as he pressed his body up against Merlin's and put his mouth to his neck, sucking the skin between his lips.

One of them groaned. 

While Merlin clutched at his hips, Arthur buried his hand in Merlin's hair, their crotches sliding together. 

Lips still latched on Merlin's throat, Arthur pressed hard against him, breathing equally hard. They made a sliding connection through their clothes, grinding, Merlin's hardness teasing his. And almost went at it.

Not caring about where they were, Arthur's hand slid down to go work on Merlin's dick through the rough fabric, pressing the heel of his palm against it in a serrated rhythm that had Merlin humping against him. 

Until, that was, Merlin gasped and twisted away. “There's--” he began, his voice a husked echo of his chirpier tones, “there's something I have to tell you.”

Arthur was too giddy to stop touching Merlin with his lips or hands. 

Merlin tilted his head back to put some distance between them and screwed his eyes shut. 

Wanting none of that distance, Arthur brushed his lips against Merlin's Adam's apple and Merlin swallowed against the pressure of his tongue. He said, “I need you to know that...you're wonderful.”

Arthur moved up to press a kiss against the corner of Merlin's mouth. “Thank you.”

“But I don't do long-term relationships,” said Merlin. “I never do. It seems fair to say. Before.”

Arthur was too far gone with an onslaught of lust and stupid emotion to really make sense of what Merlin was saying.

Did Merlin want a one night stand and a one night stand only? Well, Arthur could easily do that. 

Merlin was great to look at, good at making Arthur's body respond, and made Arthur's smile more often than not, but they lived in different places and the odds of them going somewhere with this were pretty low. 

“It's not as if I'm going to stay in Rome for more than a couple of weeks anyway,” Arthur said hurriedly, wanting to roam his mouth over Merlin again. He'd say pretty much anything at this point to get laid. And there was nothing unreasonable to what he had committed to.

“All right then,” said Merlin, breath still coming hurriedly out of parted – and marvellously lush – lips. “I wanted-- I wanted to make sure we're on the same page.”

Merlin led him inside then, as if Arthur's agreement was the open sesame that would unlock the secret of Merlin's flat. 

The flat itself was small and on the dingy side. The walls were whitewashed and the furniture spare and possibly second hand. A tiny bedroom was etched out of a corner. In the opposite one there was a window that would afford the space little light. A kitchenette cut the living room down to size. It, too, had seen better days. 

Not that Arthur cared about the flat's up-keep. Arthur might have cared a little bit more about the presence of a door that looked as though it led to a second bedroom, but not even that stopped him from taking Merlin's mouth again.

Merlin followed his line of sight. “I have a flatmate,” he said between kisses. “But he's never in.”

By that point Arthur would have started stripping Merlin even if an army of flatmates had indeed been present and awake. As it was, it seemed he had the freedom of Merlin's flat.

They could have sex right here if they wanted. The thought fired Arthur more than a little.

Merlin's shirt went off and so did Arthur's belt. Merlin pushed Arthur's crumpled jacket off his shoulders and unbuttoned Arthur's button-down. 

Getting naked being the objective, Arthur pushed down the zip of Merlin's jeans and tugged them down so they slipped a little way past his hips. Merlin's cock peeked out of his boxers; Arthur found the tip and rubbed it with his thumb. 

When the pad of Arthur's finger, swiped Merlin's foreskin backwards, Merlin gave a shudder and pushed stutteringly into his hand. 

Arthur cupped him and Merlin slid closer, all breath rushing out of him in a whoosh. Even before Arthur had managed to give him two slow strokes, Merlin had contrived to lick into his mouth with an abandon that was so good it made Arthur useless.

“Don't stop,” said Merlin. “Gods, don't stop. I want your hands on me.”

Arthur tried not to, but said, “If I can get you naked I swear I'll put my hands all over you.”

“Right,” said Merlin, “Right. Naked.” 

Merlin directed them to the bedroom, where a spacious but partially unmade bed sat. Arthur cast a dubious look at it. 

“I was in a bit of a hurry when I left,” Merlin said, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his jeans and underwear. “Does it matter?” he asked, cock bobbing free. 

Arthur thought not, but vocalising that became a hard task when all he had eyes for was Merlin's dark pink cock straining upwards. 

Abandoning all attempts at speech, he flattened his hands against Merlin's chest and made the most of it. Merlin wasn't heavily muscled but he was toned. His skin was hot to the touch and his pulse beat at his neck in a way that caused Arthur to feel wanted.

Arthur touched him wherever the fancy took him, getting his fill of the planes of Merlin's back and the moderate swell of his biceps. His hands lingered at his sides and swept across his shoulders. 

Merlin responded to all those touches in different ways: an intake of breath here, some subtle leaning closer there, a suppressed chuckle right before Arthur’s hands slipped lower than the line of his tail bone. 

All those tactile inputs, though, made Arthur harder, and more impatient. No longer able to indulge in sensory foreplay, he walked Merlin backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed, and shoved him down. 

With no hesitation, he came down on the bed beside him and kissed him on the mouth. 

Merlin kissed him back and clasped the nape of his neck as Arthur sucked his tongue. That hand slid down Arthur's back and, after having explored it, joined his other to push at Arthur's jeans. They got snagged at his knees. Arthur had to draw back, stand and lower them till he could safely step out of them. He then rid himself of socks and shoes.

As Arthur straightened, Merlin's eyes flashed to his standing cock. “Nice,” he said.

Arthur felt a surge of pride swell inside him at the comment; he stuck his chest out and dropped his arms, skin heating at the flames in Merlin's eyes.

He couldn't wait much longer before he joined Merlin on the bed and covered him with his body, fully relishing their mutual nakedness. 

There was nothing quite like it. It hit Arthur home hard. The slide of another warm body against his, the body contact, the unforeseen reactions and sounds that came with this kind of intimacy were the things that were so good about sex. He'd missed them. It had been a while.

They kissed again albeit a little more slowly than before. They snogged until Arthur's jaw sore. 

Which was when Arthur moved from Merlin's lips and kissed down Merlin's chest, touching Merlin's protruding collarbones with his lips. He took a nipple in his mouth and flicked his tongue over it until Merlin's started sounding breathy. 

He skimmed his mouth down the tapering line of Merlin's torso, moving lower and lower. In response Merlin's muscles tightened, belly hollowing below his ribcage.

Before Arthur could feel proud of his achievement, Merlin flipped them over and sat on his lap, the hands splayed on Arthur's shoulder bearing him down and into the mattress.

“Let me,” he said, with a cheeky smile Arthur just wanted to kiss.

Without warning Merlin slid down his body and sealed his lips around Arthur's cock. Christ. A sob broke out of Arthur's throat. It was good, so good Arthur almost went crossed-eyed. Merlin's mouth was wet, a fucking haven of perfection, and before Arthur had quite got used to the feel of it around him, Merlin started nuzzling and lapping at him, twirling and dabbing his tongue at Arthur’s cock.

Arthur had to grab the sheets and twist them so as not to tear at Merlin's hair and push his head further down. But the animal half-sob, half-grunt he let out was tell-tale enough. 

Merlin drew back, locked gazes with him, searching his eyes for a protracted, intimate moment, only to go down on him again, taking him deep, so deep this time, that Arthur keened. 

His cock spasmed and suddenly the world was gone from him. 

Nothing existed besides what he was feeling. No thought but the jagged spike of ache that was really pleasure. There was only the raw need to come, fuck, thrust his hips. Move and penetrate. He gasped little incoherent words between breaths and made stifled sounds even while he tried not to pump his hips forward too wildly.

It was a challenge; but he didn't want to hurt Merlin. Not even in the blissful daze he was in. 

Merlin seemed to get how far gone he was, because he guided Arthur's hand to his head, allowing him to curl his fingers into his hair. With one simple gesture, he gave Arthur control. 

It was honestly overwhelming; Arthur's blood started to thunder in his ears. He'd never felt quite like this. Because of Merlin and because of the hot moistness of his mouth. How down-to-earth good this was. The power he felt thrumming through him was indescribable.

Quite heedlessly, he slid his cock down Merlin's throat, his balls resting under Merlin's chin. And thrust, bucking off the bed, back arching and hips twisting sideways. 

Hoping Merlin was fine – Arthur believed he was since he wasn't backing off – he just went with it and sped up, guiding Merlin down by the grip he had on his hair.

He let his mouth drop open when he came.

Eyes watery, Merlin disengaged himself, lips sticking to Arthur's skin for a second or two. Body strung taut, Merlin knelt up, his hand going to his own cock. 

Still abuzz, Arthur had just enough presence of mind to bat his hands off and stroke Merlin through orgasm. He did it just in time to witness the slackening of Merlin's face and to feel him shudder jerkily before he crumpled on top of him.

But that was the utmost he had energy for, and before he knew it, the sex and the hour having certainly done a number on him, he dozed off.

He woke up an indefinite amount of time later.

The roller-shutters being down didn't help him establish what time it was. But even though it was dark in the room he picked out Merlin's form next to his. 

The contours of him told Arthur that Merlin was as naked as he'd been before Arthur fell asleep. It warmed him, the idea that Merlin didn't feel like hiding from him. It was strangely domestic. His bright eyes were also a great sight to wake to. 

“I made you breakfast,” Merlin said, with such an endearing smile Arthur felt none of the awkwardness he usually experienced after one night stands.

Most of those he'd lived through had been ill-judged anyway. This was so radically different as to surprise him.

“Really?” said Arthur, propping himself up on his elbow. “And what did you make me?”

“Jam on toast.”

“I see,” said Arthur, waggling his eyebrows comically. “Can I also have a good morning kiss?”

“I thought good night kisses were more the norm.”

“But good morning kisses make you begin the day way better. More useful than good night kisses. Think of what you can achieve in a day if you start it all pumped up.”

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose in a parody of long-suffering temperance. “I see you're a practical bloke.” He leant closer, the smell of him filling Arthur's nostrils. “A go getter.” He gave Arthur a sweet kiss that was rather at odds with the passionate ones they'd shared the night before. With a sigh, he drew back. In lieu of the banter Arthur had been expecting, he said, “I have a shift in the early afternoon.” 

Arthur slipped back onto his back, folding his arms. “I see. Give me a minute and I'll get out of...”

Merlin laughed, placing a hand on his belly and leaning in again. “I didn't say that to shove you out.”

“But you said--”

“That I have a shift,” Merlin said, kissing his shoulder with parted lips. “You can stay.”

“I'd rather not bump into your flatmate.”

“The man is making plans for a Spring trip on the Trans-Siberian Railway.” said Merlin. “That means he'll be away at his friends' place for... days probably.”

“Still, I'm sure I shouldn't stay,” said Arthur, remembering Merlin's little speech from the night before about only agreeing to short hook-ups. 

“Why not?”

“You said--”

Merlin buried a chuckle in Arthur's shoulder. “Because I said that I only do short term?”

Arthur huffed. “Yeah, that seemed pretty definitive.”

“I don't kick people to the curb just because I'm not committing to relationships,” said Merlin. “You're really prickly.”

“I am not.” Arthur puffed out his cheeks and crossed his ankles. He uncrossed them the moment the position struck him as ludicrous. He was naked, his cock lying flaccid against his thigh, for God's sake. There was no way he would ever manage to look even remotely serious if he held on to the pose he'd arranged himself into.

“You are.” Merlin kissed him along his jaw-line, making Arthur stir the moment he felt Merlin's warm side brush his. Arthur unwound a little, muscles relaxing. “You really, really are. But I was thinking...”

Arthur wasn't really listening; he was enjoying Merlin's mouth on his skin. “Yeah?”

“That we could do it again?”

“Sex?”

Merlin slapped a hand flat on his stomach. “Not just that, you one track-minded boor. I meant going places.”

“Oh,” Arthur said, a smile breaking away from him without his having meant it to. It was a rather wide and stupid smile. Certainly an undignified one. He tamed it a little. “Yes, I'd... appreciate that.”

“You're a snob, aren't you?” The words were breathed against Arthur's mouth and were the strangest precursor to a kiss Arthur had ever heard.

One thing leading to another, they almost had sex again until Merlin remembered his shift. “Shit, it's Midday. Got to go.”

He left with Arthur in possession of the premises – unwise – and with only one sock on.

Despite having been left to cool his heels alone, Arthur hid his grin by burying his face in a pillow that distinctly smelled like Merlin.

 

**** 

 

Left to himself, Arthur showered, recovered the clothes he'd had on yesterday, putting on the horrid tee Merlin had given him and that Arthur had ditched as soon as his own shirt had dried, and wandered outside Merlin's bedroom, wearing that and his boxers.

The flat was as empty as it had been the day before. Merlin had left him a plate on which he'd heaped burnt toast slices. A few of them gobs of jam had been larded on. No butter in sight. Merlin was clearly no cook. A post-it note was taped to the fridge door. It said, “Milk in the fridge. Don't touch Claudio's yoghurt. Apocalypse would ensue.”

Below that was a smilie and a mobile number. An arrow pointed to it and a caption read, “Save Merlin's number. Great plans ahead.”

Arthur grinned at the note, went back to the bedroom, rooted in his pockets for his mobile and went back to the fridge. He copied the number and saved it among his contacts.

Next he sat down at the table and tried to eat some of the toast. Even without the crusts it was too crunchy. It scratched the roof of his mouth and got his jaw sore from chewing. He scraped the jam off with a spoon and ate that. Since Merlin had set this food aside, Arthur didn't dare raid the fridge for anything more edible. It wasn't his place to. It wasn't as if he was at home. 

He finished the milk and moved to the sink to give the plates a wash. He was rinsing the glass he'd used when the door opened and in stumbled a tall man with a dark beard that reminded him of a photo he'd seen of Tolstoy on the back of a book cover.

Except this bloke was young. Aside from that temporal marker, his look was very.... not contemporary though. Even his shirt, a normal straight point collar shirt, looked like something that someone had fished out of their granddad's wardrobe and then proceeded to flog at a flea market.

The man scratched at his ruffled hair. “O sei un amico di Merlin o sei il ladro più strano del mondo.”

Arthur's Italian was sketchy. He couldn't say he had understood much of that besides the implication that he was a friend of Merlin's. He hastened to confirm that. Better that than this man thinking him a perverted burglar who liked to burgle in his underwear. And then clean the dishes. As absurd as that sounded. “Yeah, I'm a friend of Merlin's.”

“Oh,” the man said. “Hello, then. I'm Claudio. I'm Merlin's flatmate.”

“Yeah, Merlin said he had one.”

“You don't happen to know Russian? I know Russian far better than English.” Claudio gave Arthur a sheepish grin. “Russian student, see.”

Arthur shook his head, dried the glass he'd rinsed so as to keep his hands busy and said, “No, unfortunately I don't come with that set of skills.”

“I'm sure I could teach you.”

Arthur's eyebrow went up. “I'm sure you could, but I suppose I'd better get out of your hair. I've invaded your space enough.”

Claudio looked as though he was confused by Arthur's statement. “Pity. I always make friends with Merlin's... lays. He tends to pick awesome people.” 

Arthur's polite smile faltered a little. “Yes, well.” He suddenly felt under-dressed, which should have occurred to him sooner given that he was wearing only a tee and boxers, but it sank in only now. Without looking down at his ensemble for fear of reddening before witnesses, he retreated towards Merlin's bedroom.

“Did I say something wrong?” Claudio asked.

Arthur proceeded backwards, fumbling blindly for the door handle. “No, absolutely not. But I'd better go get dressed.”

“All right,” said Claudio. “By the way, if you should ever want to take part in a Trans-Siberian Rail tour, me and my friends have a free spot and are looking for someone to contribute the last quota.”

Arthur said, “Sorry, I'll have to decline. I'm already on holiday.”

“Oh, okay.” Claudio cast his hands about, is lips turned down in genuine disappointment. “But if you change your mind...”

“Not likely, but, yeah I'll keep you offer in mind.”

Arthur skidded into the bedroom, slipped on his trousers, collected his jacket and his crumpled button down, and left even though Claudio tried to stop him, saying they could have a Vodka binge. Arthur pleaded it was too early in the day for alcohol and scarpered.

As for the day itself he spent it as he'd planned to. Mostly. Before flying over he'd made plans; he'd earmarked the pages of his guide book corresponding to the locations he wanted to see. And then he'd copied out the destinations onto his mobile's planner and subdivided them by two per day, depending on closing hours and proximity.

Since he'd obviously overslept after his night with Merlin, he had had to pass on his first goal, but still had afternoon tickets for the Vatican Museums.

So of course he didn't waste them. But when he realised he was comparing Merlin's body to the statuary all the while thinking Merlin was ten times more wonderful to look at – slender but muscled with shoulders even a Greek artist wouldn't do justice to – he realised that maybe he wasn't in the best frame of mind for sightseeing.

The more so when he turned his attention to the beautiful Renaissance paintings dotted around the Pinacoteca and looked to the canvases for a shade of blue to match that of Merlin's eyes. Okay, this wouldn't do. It was an insult to the beauty displayed around him. He had to go. He needed to breathe some fresh air and not experience pornographic memory flashes at the sight of painted muscle groups.

Damn Renaissance artists for rendering human bodies with such earthy flare.

After having hurried down a gallery, Arthur made it to a courtyard. Once there he relaxed his shoulders and breathed in and out. It calmed him some. At least he was having fewer x-rated perfect recall moments. But without the low excitation he'd experienced inside, a certain sense of disappointment washed over him.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and fetched a sigh, wandering down a shaded path a little listlessly. 

Arthur was a rational man. Mostly rational. He'd had a few short term relationships and wasn't naïve. He knew that Merlin might not want him to call him. Even if he'd given Arthur his number and told him he had plans. Politeness could have made him, but perhaps he'd already put their night behind them. Apparently he wasn't foreign to one night stands.

While Arthur wanted to have a repeat performance he knew how to stay grounded. And how not to get his pride damaged to boot.

He took his mobile out of his pocket and stared at it. He could force the issue, call Merlin and ask him about his plans. He'd probably get another one night stand out of the bargain. Merlin had seemed to like the sex between them so he might say 'yes'. 

But maybe Merlin wouldn't be as keen as he had been now that he'd had a taste already. Some people just liked change. So maybe he wasn't expecting Arthur to take him up on his invitation to call.

Perhaps it was all best left alone.

Arthur pocketed his mobile and sat on an empty bench. His train of thought leading him to memories of yesterday's blow job, he got more hot and bothered than the September weather warranted. Or the venue did. He passed a hand over his forehead and remembered Merlin's touch instead. 

Merlin had cool fingers, most of the time. When he wasn't covered in sweat. Because of sex. Arthur wondered idly if Merlin's hands would stay cool in the heat of Summer. Probably not. Or maybe...

He recovered his mobile from the folds of his jacket and speed dialled his newest contact.

Ten seconds passed, his stomach lurched and he pressed the red button to abort the call. He gingerly put his mobile down so it rested on the bench and stared at it as if it was a hostile object.

He stared at it so much it trilled. “Shite.” Arthur picked it up, almost dropped it, recovered it and saw that Merlin's name was flashing on his display. Nothing for it. He answered. “Hello,” he said.

“Arthur,” Merlin's voice rang clear, high-pitched and good-humoured. “I see you saved my number.”

Arthur couldn't deny he had. “Yes, well, you told me to.”

“Happy to see that you picked me up on that. By the way are you having reception problems?”

Arthur frowned at an azalea bush. “No? Why?”

“Because you rang me but then dropped the call?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said quickly, going for a save. “Yeah, the reception is piss poor, now that you remind me.”

“I'd ask where you are but perhaps I'd better not,” Merlin said. Arthur didn't tell him he was in a museum garden. The rule breach as to using his phone was giving him itchy feet as it was he wasn't about to fess up on that. He didn't appreciate breaking rules. Yet, if he were to follow the rules he should end the call. But now that Merlin was talking to him he didn't particularly want to hang up. “Yeah,” Arthur said in agreement. “Ignorance is bliss.”

“Look,” Merlin said, “I'm on a break, so I have little time to make this nice and perfect and woo you. But there's another place I want to show you.”

“Another after hours church?”

“No,” Merlin said, “a café and please don't tell my boss I'm funding the competition. But this place is fantastic. They serve good food and the location is stunning.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“I often go,” said Merlin, “so I know what I'm talking about.

“Do you go with your dates?” Arthur asked and proceeded to bite his tongue. He wanted to go out with Merlin tonight. Not irritate him. What was with him? He was breaking all the rules of proper post one night stand relationships. If that made sense. It did to him in a fashion. He ought to be cooler about it. More casual. 

“With whoever I can get a hold of,” Merlin said, blessedly not ticked off, though he did sound amused. Arthur decided not to dwell on that, hoping Merlin didn't think him ridiculous for having asked. 

He would have probed, but there was a scuffling sound and Merlin sounded a little hassled when he said, “Mmm, I think I've got to go, but if you could write down this address, we could see each other there. If you wanted to.”

“Yes,” said Arthur, “I think I'm up for some dining out tonight. Haven't eaten much.” Or at all. He hadn't had anything since his belated breakfast. He wasn't all that hungry either, Merlin's food having put him mildly off edibles. 

“Okay then.” Merlin rattled off the address and Arthur repeated it two times to make sure he'd remember it.

“See you at around eightish then,” Merlin said. 

Arthur looked down at himself. Barring Merlin's shirt he hadn't changed in 36 hours. “Just let me drop by my hotel for a change of clothes,” said Arthur.

“Eight thirtysh then,” Merlin said, sounding happy as a clam. “Oh, look I've really got to go now. Boss's scowling...”

The connection broke.

At his hotel Arthur showered and, after having secured Merlin's tee in a drawer (he'd have it laundered for him) went through three changes of clothes. He wasn't vain. 

That wasn't the reason why he modelled three outfits. But his first choice struck him as too formal for a date with Merlin. Who clearly liked casual. 

When he tried a second outfit, he found he didn't feel too comfortable in it. The shirt, while sufficiently casual, was too tight across his forearms. It made him look like a prick who was trying to show off his biceps.

Arthur didn't think that would go down well with Merlin. Merlin looked like the type to appreciate spontaneity and naturalness. Not this. So he changed again. In the end he settled for a jersey he'd brought along as part of his gym outfit and the only pair of jeans he had.

He had the receptionist call him a taxi and let himself be dropped off as close to the Piazza as he could get. Merlin had chosen a café in Campo dei Fiori for their rendezvous point so Arthur worked his way down to it.

Threading past the crowd, he passed a fountain and walked towards the apex of the rectangular piazza. The houses around it looked to be huddled together in the strangest fashion; a cramped and chaotic one, different height buildings clustered together as if they had sprouted like mushrooms over night and couldn't quite settle on how tall to be. 

Arthur smiled at the strange beauty of their arrangement.

Merlin had nabbed a table placed right under a white awning from where you could watch the crowds pass by. 

He looked pleased and at his ease. As if he belonged. He was wearing a blue tee, grey jeans and a bright smile. When he sighted Arthur, he lifted a hand to greet him, waving it outrageously once he'd become sure he'd caught Arthur's eyes.

Arthur's lips quirked up. He sat opposite Merlin, saying, “Hello, Merlin missed me?”

Merlin pushed his chair closer to his. “Why, yes. Work was duller today because I kept comparing it to yesterday.”

“So no soaking wet customers bounded in, collapsed at a table leaving puddles behind, and seduced you today?”

“Did you seduce me?” Merlin asked. He smiled at the little flower arrangement that sat on their table. “Yeah, I guess you did.” He paused a beat, then wearing a mad little grin Arthur would have described as anything but sexy but that yet managed to make Arthur's spine go more than mildly liquid, he asked, “I hope I did too.”

“What?”

“Tempt you, seduce you, something.”

Arthur forced his eyes away from Merlin and trifled with a napkin. “I like you.”

“I was going for that,” Merlin said. “You liking me, at least I little. I mean I know I prattle a lot--”

Arthur focused on the stream of passers-by. “Come on, given yesterday you couldn't have thought I didn't like you at all.”

Merlin said, “No, I suppose not.” He said that in a self-deprecating tone that made Arthur turn. 

His eyes went automatically to Merlin's lips. They were stretched out in a lovely grin but Arthur bypassed that. All he could think about was how those lips had felt on him. And how soft they were to kiss. He shook his head. “I like you, Merlin,” he said. “There's something about you I like.” And then to defuse the potential for embarrassment, he passed him the plastic-covered menu. “Choose something nice for me.”

Merlin glanced down and scanned the options. “Let's begin with a caffé corretto and a focaccia,” he said. “Oh and some olives. We can go from there.”

Arthur snorted. “How much are you planning on eating tonight?”

“As much as I can.”

“Don't they feed you at that café of yours?”

Merlin widened his eyes comically. “Lord, no, they regularly bat my hands away whenever I zero in on something tempting.”

“Then let's order twice your weight in food.”

Merlin was friends with the waiters and because of that they got an inordinate amount of freebies on top of their orders. 

Everybody smiled at him or gave him sound claps on the back, nodding their heads politely at Arthur, making him feel like he was furniture compared to Merlin. The feeling hit him once again when a second waiter turned up and engaged Merlin in a rapid fire conversation Arthur barely followed but that proved that Merlin and the guy were on pretty good terms. Had they been intimate? Probably not. The smiles weren't heated. So just friends. 

How Merlin had managed to get so friendly with so many people in six months was a little baffling to him all the same. Merlin was open and had a magnet-like smile but Arthur really didn't get how it was possible to form so many friendships – and in a foreign country too – so quickly. Arthur was only close to his old friends from school and uni.

The men and women at work were his employees so they were out. And he'd never made fast friends at parties or during other public occasions. It seemed Merlin had a gift for attracting people to him.

“I don't know how you do it,” he said. 

Merlin smiled. “What? Eat so many olives?”

“No, make people like you.” He eyed the waiter that had been so cosy with Merlin with some wariness.

Merlin dimpled. “Do I? I hope so actually. I like people. I like talking. I'd be feeling lonely if I had no one to talk to.” 

Merlin got a faraway look about him. As if he was thinking of something that made him sad. His eyes went a little misty but he blinked the wetness off and smiled more than before. “Well, but that's enough of me. But what about you? Here we are sharing a lovely meal under a nice Italian sky. An overcast Italian sky – then again if it hadn't rained yesterday I wouldn't have met you, so fuck clichés – and I know next to nothing about you.”

Arthur shrugged his shoulders, not even considering the wisdom of not sharing. He felt like he could have a real conversation with Merlin. “There's not much to tell. I finished uni last year. I got a job in my father's company as soon as I did. A desk job. You'll probably be thinking this reeks of nepotism and perhaps you're right. Maybe I wouldn't have got where I am so quickly but for my father. I'm honestly trying to do my best though.” 

Arthur flashed back to his office; its sterile lines and the stack of files that was waiting for him on his return. The city view that most visitors envied and left Arthur cold. He thought of the routine and the schedules. The reports he would have to read. And already felt like he was there; like this holiday was already over. As if his breathing space was already gone. 

“Did I say something wrong?” Merlin asked. “You really don't need to share. I understand having secrets.”

“There are no secrets,” Arthur said, pouring himself a glass of fizzy water. “I'm probably just a very uninteresting man with a job that would bore you to tears.”

“Nah,” said Merlin. “You're amazing. And nothing really bores me. Okay, cricket bores me but only that.”

“Luckily my job isn't related to cricket,” Arthur said. “Though it's hardly animated.” He grimaced.

“Forgive me for saying this but it seems to me--” Merlin covered his hand. “-- that you're not passionate about what you do.”

“I don't need passion to be good,” Arthur countered. It was true. His father had never shown an ounce of passion in his life and yet their business had prospered. “I just need to be responsible. And thorough.”

“You don't sound too excited.”

“I am,” said Arthur, “It's just not a glamour job.” Income wise it was, but Arthur didn't say that. It would be like bragging. “You know, the kind of thing little kids want to do when they grow up? It's not that. But it involves a lot of responsibilities and it's certainly rewarding.”

“Okay, not arguing with you there. You certainly know better than me.” Merlin held up both hands. “But answer me this. What was it that you wanted to do when you were six?”

Arthur laughed then, the memory striking him as a little funny. “I wanted to be a cowboy.”

“A cowboy?”

“I'm good with horses,” Arthur said with a chuckle. “I was even then. So yeah to the mind of a child that translated to...”

“ _High Noon_?”

“No, you idiot.”

“Okay, then _Destry Rides Again_? I always preferred comedic westerns anyway.”

Arthur croaked out a laugh that made the people at the other tables laugh. “ _Destry Rides Again_?”

“I did a lot of sneaking downstairs to watch TV at night when I was a kiddo,” said Merlin. “I know everything about old films.”

Arthur sighed fondly, taking in Merlin's relaxed pose and turned up lips. “Tit for tat. What did you want to become back then?” 

“Aside from a put upon waiter, you mean?”

“You're a fantastic waiter,” Arthur told Merlin. A piece of untruth Merlin detected immediately. 

“We wouldn't be here if I was,” he said. “But, to answer your question.” Merlin arched his eyebrows and Arthur was expecting as stupid an answer as his, but Merlin surprised him by saying, “A doctor. I wanted to become one.”

“What stopped you?” Arthur asked. “I mean, you're what? Twenty? You could go to uni yet.”

“Ah, that was... life,” said Merlin. “There's things I need to do.” He trailed off and looked down. 

He was still wearing a smile but his expression had gone absent-minded. Arthur cursed himself for a fool for having broached the topic at all and tried to hastily change the subject.

Merlin seemed to jump on that. They ordered more food; Merlin told him more Rome factoids he said he'd learnt while hanging around. His memory was impressive and his telling made things come alive for Arthur. What should have been dry as dust was anything but. More like history unfolding at his feet. “The Palazzo Farnese is just round the corner if you want to gawk at it later. Alessandro Farnese had it built. You know, the future pope, and the brother to one of the former pope's lovers. There's lots of intrigues there.”

“I'd like to see it,” said Arthur, mouth still tasting like their dessert. 

“And, oh, we should come back here tomorrow,” Merlin added as if the thought had just occurred to him, “so you can see the piazza when the market's on.”

“Don't you have work?” Arthur asked, figuring Merlin couldn't play the tourist with him all the time. He would have to put in appearances at that bloody café of his.

Merlin smiled quietly to himself. “I can ask for a day off and take you. World won't come to a stop if someone else serves their cappuccinos.”

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked. Despite his rational tone and pointer, his heart beat out of time. “I wouldn't want you to be told off.”

“Again, you mean?” Merlin asked, leaning towards him, almost hunching over their table to do so. “Nah, not a problem. Besides, I've got to make the most of you before you go. I want to. Couldn't forgive myself if I didn't.”

Looking forward to all that might mean didn't help Arthur with his heart beating funnily problem. He'd have to resign himself to it because now he had no intention of telling Merlin he should be more responsible and stick to his duty. “All right then. Show me around.”

Merlin rooted in his pockets for his thin wallet. “Let's start now!” he said, taking a few crumpled banknotes out and laying them down on the table. He made a sign to his friend the waiter, who nodded and gave him a thumbs up, and before Arthur could blink or offer to split the bill, Merlin had dragged him up and off.

“Shouldn't we have got the bill first?”

“No, they know me,” Merlin said. “If anything's the matter I'll drop by and settle it properly. Now, don't be all stuck-up about that and come with me, cowboy.”

“I'm not stuck-up!” Arthur objected. 

“Then stop digging your heels in and come with me.”

Arthur took the opener. “That I will always try to do.”

Merlin stopped and Arthur ran directly into him, Arthur's front pressing into Merlin's back. Arthur was usually a gentleman but the position they found themselves in was too evocative for him to keep his hands to himself. He therefore wrapped his arms around Merlin's rather narrow waist, and put his chin on his shoulder, pulling him so close they were plastered together. Merlin laughed out loud, a peal that shook the night. “That wasn't a double meaning.”

“No, I know,” Arthur said, nuzzling the back of Merlin's neck even as he pushed his hips forward. His skin buzzed; his cock filled a little. He felt himself flush; his breath come short. “But I stand by what I said.”

“Still with that one-track-mind of yours,” Merlin gasped. His words notwithstanding he moulded himself to Arthur's body, pushed back into him. “I promise you will,” he added in a decidedly more wrecked tone. “I'll make you. But come and see this first.”

Arthur nodded, nose still buried in Merlin's neck. Reluctantly, he let go, but not before having pressed another kiss to the nearest patch of skin he could find. 

Merlin showed him the tiniest, wonkiest little bridge Arthur had ever seen. It looked as though the Tiber's waters were about to erode its base. It was crooked and the surfaces were washed smooth by centuries of passage. The parapet was made of the red brick that Arthur had come to associate with ancient Roman buildings; facing it were two pillars. On one side the bridge joined the Lungotevere; fortifications stood on the other.

“This is the oldest bridge in Rome,” said Merlin. 

“It looks it.”

“Horace said it was the Ancient Romans' favourite suicide bridge,” Merlin dead-panned.

Arthur barked a laugh and backslapped Merlin. “And here I thought you wanted to show me a romantic place.”

“Do you want to be romanced?” Merlin asked, swinging to him and touching Arthur's lips with his. 

Merlin pulled him close while at the same time he pushed him against the parapet wall with the weight of his body. “Here under the moonlight?” 

It was said in a half-humorous, half come-hither tone. Arthur's cheeks heated. He was sure he was blushing. He hadn't blushed in... years. Years. Since he was fourteen and a school mate he'd had a crush on had asked him if he'd ever had sex, causing him to have the one sexuality crisis that made him realise he was gay. 

Merlin put his hand at his waist; he used the other to pluck at his shirt and draw him close. Breath coming in gasps, Arthur said, “I might.”

Merlin tilted his head at him, his mouth an inch away from Arthur's. “Only might?”

“I wouldn't say no if--” Merlin took his mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss. Both his hands now dropped to his waist and before Arthur had quite realised his intent, Merlin had opened his zip and found his cock with the tips of his finger. 

“What?” Arthur squawked and squawked louder when Merlin crowded him and started working his hand up and down. “You can't do that!” he croaked. “Merlin! We're in public. There's laws against this. I'm pretty sure they're universal!”

Merlin nipped at his mouth. “Shush, live a little.”

“I'm not not living!” Arthur said, his words making little sense even to him. “I just--” Merlin cupped him between his palms. He stroked him from base to tip, slower and then faster, catching a drop of pre come on his finger and sucking it into his mouth, using the other hand to work Arthur still. 

And this was so, so wrong. If they got caught... But it was also so, so right. Perfect. Sweat rolled down Arthur's face; his knees were knocking. His breath was wheezy and he felt light-headed, be-addled, overwhelmed. His blood sang; he felt hyper, strong, like he could bear the weight of the sky on his shoulders. Like he could laugh he was so high.

“You're good,” Arthur said, voice cracking into an unexpected high and rocking forward. “So good.”

Merlin smiled, kissed him, alternating between sucking on his lips and letting his tongue slide inside and all the while he rubbed Arthur. A squeeze, a twist of his wrist, and Arthur faltered in response to his kiss, his hips snapped forward, and he went slack-mouthed, until he buried his face in Merlin's neck.

Merlin hugged him through his post-coital shivers, put his cock back in place and zipped him up. Even though he was still hard and had to be thinking about something else entirely. Something that wasn't coddling Arthur. Coming around Arthur said, “What do you want me to do?”

His mouth fell open again when, without breaking his gaze, Merlin started rubbing himself off on his thigh, dry-humping him.

Arthur laughed out loud this time; it was so surreal. A cat meowed; Merlin sped up and came. He flopped against him. “What?” Merlin asked. “Never done it in the open?”

“Once on a beach in Greece, when I was seventeen.”

Merlin huffed a laugh. “How daring of you.”

Arthur placed both his arms around Merlin's waist, pulling him close, cocooning himself around him, his back to the parapet, Merlin warm where their bodies touched. Which was everywhere. He squeezed him closer, wanting to never unwrap himself. Yeah, he could stay like this forever. Under this sky with Merlin snuggled close to him. “It was actually. My father – not the type to approve, mind you – was hovering quite close. His balcony overlooked the spot. Thank God it was dark.”

“Still not daring enough,” Merlin mumbled in a happy, satiated tone.

Arthur bit his ear. “All right, then, Casanova, tell me about these epic exploits of yours.”

Merlin stepped back, squinted at him and said, “All right, I will.”

They ended up oddly positioned, straddling the parapet, sharing stories about their sexual exploits, laughing at the oddest, heads thrown back, sides shaking, until dawn broke on them. 

 

**** 

 

On the plea that he was sticky everywhere, (“God, it's been a while since I came with my clothes on,”) Merlin advertised the necessity to go back home for a change. “We can still do the market later.”

“It'll take you hours to get back to yours, change and come back,” Arthur pointed out. He now had a fairly good idea of the distances involved and the time it would take to accomplish the trek. “Why don't you come back to my hotel with me? I can tempt you with offers of a fluffy bathrobe and towels.”

Merlin's eyes crinkled at the corners. His expression was merry but there was a hint of wariness to his tone. Despite the banter he injected in what he said, “Fluffy towels, that's what you're luring me in with?” Arthur heard a jarring note.

“They're incredibly fluffy,” he promised. “A new sensory experience.”

“Are you quoting the hotel's ads?”

“Yes?” Arthur said. “They flash across your telly screen if you turn it on. They seemed enticing enough.” 

Merlin smirked at having guessed right. "I knew it."

Arthur hopped off his perch and pulled Merlin with him. “The truth is I just want to have you with me for a while longer.”

Merlin ducked his head. “Are you sure you want me there? With your things, in your space?”

“Of course I want you there. What were you thinking? Why shouldn't I?”

“I don't know.” Merlin shook his head. “I don't know. I like being around you too.”

As soon as they got to Arthur's room, Merlin called dibs on the shower, squinting at the bathroom's door.

Arthur's feet ached a bit because they'd walked a long stretch of the way, Merlin pointing out landmarks he liked here and there, so he was quite happy to let Merlin be first to shower. He'd rest for a moment or two. 

So as to get off his feet, he sank into the nearest armchair and toed his shoes off, stretching his legs and wriggling his toes.

Merlin, for his part, dropped his clothes before having even made the bathroom. 

He stood there, a few paces away from Arthur, his arms at his sides, his shoulders thrown back, his collar bones showing, his cock limp between his legs. 

The early morning light played on him, making love to him in a way Arthur wanted to. 

It flickered patterns of light and shade that softened his sharp contours. They changed from one moment to the next, giving Arthur a sense of a fleeting game of tag played on living flesh. 

The light picked out odd shades in Merlin's hair, lending it it a reddish-brown cast on top that otherwise wasn't there, and underlined the blueness of his eyes. 

They set deeper. His profile looked sharper too, his nose a straight line it was a pleasure to look at. Merlin was all long and lean, utterly relaxed even while naked. 

The more Arthur let his eyes feast on Merlin the more he felt his heart squeeze in his chest. His breath caught a little and a sense of well being that wasn't overwhelmed by the low excitation that sat in his gut spread over him. 

This sensation had nothing to do with the arousal triggered by the sight of Merlin's limbs. It worked deeper and put a smile to his face; it was turning him inside out. As if what he was harbouring inside was there for all to see.

Merlin seemed to be sensing something of that though Arthur couldn't tell what he was making of it. His eyes blinked mischievously and he studied him with a certain flirty curiosity. “You want to join me in that shower of yours?”

Arthur wanted to; but he also felt he needed to give Merlin space. And define his own.

He was on the brink of flying apart with these new, odd, overwhelming feelings. And he wanted to sort them out in his head before he let his body take over. In the state he was in, sleepy and hungry, there would be no doing that. “Go have your shower.” He said this with a smile to make sure Merlin got that Arthur was just postponing more play between them, not rebuffing him. “I'll order room service.”

Merlin smiled. “Order two full breakfasts then. Everything they have. English on top of Italian. Don't let them forget the croissants.”

“I won't, my liege.”

“Fuck off, idiot,” Merlin mumbled, disappearing into the bathroom and shrieking with delight at how big the shower was. “It's glorious,” he yelled from the other room. “Glorious. I could shower like this forever.”

As Merlin went on and on about how the hot water supply was never-ending, Arthur mumbled to himself, “I wish you could.”

He solemnly tried not to picture living in a limbo where that was possible. A fold in time that would allow them to share this room forever with no need to move on, Merlin talking over the din of the shower out to him, Arthur lazing in a chair as he tried not to doze off, feeling loose limbed and warm from the inside. Having it like this forever.

A knock on the door broke his reverie and brought breakfast with it. A room service waiter pushed a cart with a tray on top inside. Arthur shut the door behind him and the hotel employee stopped the cart in front of the desk. 

He lifted the silvered domes covering the plates. All sorts of delicacies, from two full English breakfasts – complete with hash browns -- to Italian confectionery formed the bulk of his order. Arthur's mouth watered at the croissants that smelt like old-fashioned ovens, both buttery and fragrant.

The waiter placed each dome aside, piling them one on top of thee other and then stepped back, almost standing at attention. He explained what was what, rattling off complicated named, listing the ingredients that went in the various slices of cake and morsels of pastries when Arthur seemed to be confused about what he had there. Only then did he offer Arthur the receipt slip to sign. 

Before Merlin came back, Arthur tipped the waiter as largely as he could. Perfect five-star service called for it. The man pocketed the tip with a satisfied glint in his eyes before exiting, making it so that the door didn't even click as it shut.

Merlin walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his middle, fringe still decidedly wet, a few droplets of water trickling from his hair and down his face, beading at his earlobe, and dripping onto his shoulders. 

Arthur's cock twitched in his jeans at the sight, desire spearing through him despite the lethargy that had followed on the heels of a fantastic but sleepless night.

Merlin eyed the breakfast spread and said, “You're minted, aren't you?”

He didn't sound too pleased. 

“Do you mind awfully?”

“I should, shouldn't I?” Merlin said seriously. 

Arthur felt his heart drop. “I hope you don't, that you won't ever.” 

Merlin read his expression and added more airily, “I'll only start to mind if those are chocolate filled croissants. Real croissants have marmalade fillings.”

“I'm glad pastry fillings have the power to affect your opinions. Otherwise I'm sure you'd have loathed me.”

“Fillings are important.” Merlin's quirked up lips were a relief to Arthur.

“All right,” said Arthur, “I'm gonna go with that. I'd love it if you liked me.”

The croissant was still warm when Arthur passed it over to Merlin.

“Mmm,” Merlin said, after a bite, “This is a piece of heaven.” He tore off the end off his croissant, the pointy bit, and pushed it in the general direction of Arthur's mouth. “You've got to taste this. It melts right on your tongue.”

Arthur caught the tips of Merlin's fingers with his tongue as the taste of orange burst on it.

At the sight, Merlin's eyes smouldered, even though there was still a humorous light in them. Arthur made a semi pornographic noise. “You're right,” he said, chewing elaborately. “This is brilliant.”

“Told you so,” Merlin said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Have some more.” He broke another bite-size piece off and nudged Arthur's lips with it.

“But it's yours,” Arthur said. “You're the one who wanted croissants in the first place.”

“I'd rather watch your eyes go bright,” said Merlin. “They have a beautiful shine when you're all satisfied.”

Arthur accepted the morsel, then took Merlin's mouth in a kiss, sharing the taste with Merlin. They did this twice more and then picked other foods. 

They ended up enjoying the process of choosing and tasting, feeding each other their breakfast.

Later they crumpled on the bed, tray at the foot of it and easily within reach, eating with their hands, until they were both full and more sleepy then before. 

They lay down side by side, bare feet angled towards the headboard, Merlin's towel coming undone.  
Merlin lifted his bare leg and wrapped it around Arthur's, bringing himself closer to him till their legs slipped together. 

“I'm full,” he murmured.

"You're not alone."

They kissed and fondled each other intimately, their eyes closed. Merlin's hands stole lower between them and he held Arthur's penis, softly playing with it, playing with the crown and foreskin, tugging at the coarse hair at its base. 

It twitched, filling to half mast, but Merlin's intent wasn't focused enough for sex, his touches too desultory to bring Arthur off.

In spite of this Merlin's fondling was just fantastic, Arthur thought, as his thoughts spun away from him. His limbs grew heavier. This was so pleasant he could have purred like a cat whose belly was being scratched. Drowsiness washed over him in ripples and waves.

Merlin noticed and let go of his cock.

But he didn't let go completely; his fingers spread over Arthur's hip and meandered up his side. He palmed Arthur's shoulder, swept his fingers down Arthur's arm and then closed them tightly around his.

Arthur's thoughts eddied into sleep, but not before he'd formulated a series of half distracted thoughts. He decided he would never have enough of this, that he could just lie there forever, kissing Merlin and holding him. He contemplated Merlin in every which way. 

His kisses were arousing; his eyes were one of the most beautiful sights Arthur had ever seen. His body was too die for, awkward angles and imperfections included. Actually those stabbed Arthur in the heart more than the gorgeousness of a GQ model would. He even smelled nice; his skin did, not any toiletry that he might have used. He was a rare find. Arthur found that, yes, having Merlin close was perfection. 

He fell asleep trying to hold on to that thought.

They woke again some time later, maybe an hour or so short of midday, smiling at each other. There were pillow creases on Merlin's face, crinkles like sunbeams around his eyes, and the soft bow of his upper lip lifted at the corners. 

“Hello,” Merlin said, brushing his lips against Arthur's.

“Hello.” Arthur sought to deepen the kiss and succeeded for a while, groping Merlin and starting to rut against him, his movements getting the more syncopated, the more he got into it. 

Even if he'd seemed into it, mouth open to Arthur's kisses, hardening because of the friction, Merlin drew back. 

Arthur's face fell. "What--"

“There's more I want to do,” Merlin said. “With you.”

“What kind of more?” Arthur's heartbeat sped up, Merlin's tone firing his imagination. The whole gay Kamasutra flashed before his eyes. He pictured all manners of positions and flushed at some of them.

As Arthur reviewed those in his mind, Merlin caressed him all over.

“Nothing you won't like,” Merlin said. “I want you to go beyond your preconceptions and just feel.”  
Arthur wasn't sure he'd got this straight; his eyebrows drew together. “What are we talking about?” 

Merlin chuckled softly, thumbing at his brow where a few creases had formed. “Nothing life-changing, don't worry. I just want you to feel me.”

“I already do,” said Arthur. “Feel you. All the time.” It was a bit much to say, but Arthur was feeling mellow, the bed soft under him, Merlin's legs warm between his, his body an enveloping cocoon. It was nice and he wanted to say nice things. Kill him for that.

“I want to blindfold you,” Merlin said. “I want to see you come apart. You not knowing what's coming next. How I'm going to touch you. When.”

“I like seeing you come too,” Arthur protested weakly. Merlin's face drew him in like nothing else and he wanted to learn its every expression. His orgasm faces had gone on top of the list of things he wanted more of, of course. No matter if they were silly. Though Arthur didn't think those he'd seen were. “I love watching you come. ”

“Please?” Merlin said, nuzzling his face. “I'd love it if you let me. I promise to come for you every time you want me to in return.”

Arthur couldn't say he didn't want it. He minded missing another opportunity to memorise Merlin's bedroom faces, the contortions of his body as it twisted around his, but he couldn't suppress the goose flesh that the thought of letting Merlin do whatever he wanted raised all over his body. It was scary but only in the way things you want with all your soul are. The little thrill of fear at the though of laying himself that open added spice to his desire.

“All right,” he said, swallowing around the dryness in his mouth. 

Merlin cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure? We could do something else.”

“No,” said Arthur, wrapping his hand around Merlin's elbow. It was the boniest part of him yet. “My body's yours.”

“Sexy,” Merlin joked. He sounded eager more than witty, more awkward than smooth. 

He hopped off the bed, as if he was re-energised; Arthur watched his muscles flex as he walked to the wardrobe to rifle in it for a tie. He stretched the fabric of one, wrapping the larger end around his fist. “I think this one should do. Like it?”

“I think all ties are equal.” Arthur's voice was this side of broke. He didn't care which tie Merlin chose; he just wanted Merlin to hurry over. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, use that one.”

“Then strip,” Merlin said, cocking his eyebrow 

Under Merlin's gaze Arthur rid himself of shirt and jeans, his cock rising fully between his legs as he read the hunger in Merlin's eyes. That was all that was needed. Well, that and him trying to picture what was going to happen next. What Merlin would do to him.

Arthur lay back on the bed, hands on his stomach, trying not to touch his cock yet. He didn't want to come catastrophically early.

Tie in his hands, Merlin straddled him, his weight familiar now. A quick knot secured the tie. The light seeping through the curtains no longer bled through the fabric and Arthur's only anchor to the world outside were the muffled sounds of passing traffic. 

“I'm not going to tie your hands,” Merlin said. “But let's pretend they are.”

Sighing, Arthur said, “All right, but I like touching you. It will be hard not to reach out.”

“I like touching you too,” Merlin said. To demonstrate, he put his hands on either side of Arthur's face and leaned down to kiss him, their bellies brushing together. 

Merlin nipped at his lower lip with his teeth and slipped his tongue inside Arthur's mouth. Seeking the warmth of Merlin's mouth, Arthur returned the kiss for all he was worth, pursuing the taste of him with the roll of his tongue. 

Before drawing back, Merlin stroked his cheek just below the tie, leaving Arthur whimpering for his mouth. He whispered some words, but Arthur was already too worked up to understand anything but the tone of them, grasping instinctively that they were endearments, soft encouragement. He'd half expected filthy words and jokes. He got a reverent tone and resonant words instead.

They made him feel cherished, taken care of.

As Arthur's body bucked up into the one weighing him down, Merlin placed a kiss on his cheek and nibbled his earlobe. 

Going a little lower, Merlin drew his lips along each side of his neck, Arthur's tendons straining at the brush, his body arching. He trembled and tried to reach for Merlin, but remembered in time that he was not supposed to touch him. So he fisted the sheets, twisting their layers between his fingers.

He gave himself over to Merlin as he kissed him everywhere. Whilst Merlin touched various parts of his body with the palms of his hands or his tongue, Arthur writhed. 

“What are you feeling right now?” Merlin breathed out. “Tell me.”

“You all over me,” Arthur said in a rasp. Was that even his voice? He couldn't sound so wrecked, could he?

All the while Merlin's tongue traced patterns down Arthur's torso, down his breastbone and belly, leaving coolness in its wake, trailing hot fire. His were kitten licks and wet butterfly kisses hiding a hint of tongue. 

Eyes screwed shut under the tie, Arthur felt Merlin's lips moving slowly across his skin, causing his heart to miss beats, his cock to leak, marking where his legs joined his torso, the area below his navel, the base of his cock.

God, his bones were liquefying. He was just his body. Merlin touching it made him hyper-aware of his own skin. Of who he was. Of himself in his own body. 

It was electrifying. Arthur couldn't see anything past the pinpricks of colour that painted themselves beneath his lids, but every nerve ending was being awakened by the touch of Merlin's lips, by his skin grazing Arthur's, by the way his fingers indented Arthur's flesh, the pressure awaking a low ache that was just like a bruise.

He could hear his own breath coming too fast, knew he was actually shaking, craving to reach out, and not wanting to for fear Merlin would stop. 

Arthur trembled with pleasure, opening his mouth to exhale softly. His skin sang or his blood did as it whistled in his ears.

He arched back and tried to thrust, looking for a way to spend himself.

Merlin slid lower down and wrapped his lips around his cock, moving up and down it, slowly at first, then faster. 

Arthur was at his mercy, the heat and the wetness the only sensory input he got. Moistness, warmth, sizzling pleasure.

There was nothing like this. Fuck. There just wasn't.

Merlin's mouth travelled up and down him, spit feeling cool on his flesh, his fingers points of fire around the base of his erection. 

Each movement of Merlin's mouth sent a fresh trail of fire up his spine. One moment Merlin's tongue was flitting across his slit, teasing him into almost pain, the next the head of his cock was being engulfed down Merlin's throat, Merlin swallowing around him.

Arthur was making needy sounds now, sounds he wouldn't have made if he could have seen, if he could have done anything other than feel this, feel this right down to his marrow. Each of his constituent parts was unravelling under Merlin, and with it his self control. 

How this was possible he didn't know, but he felt himself unravel.

Excitement tightened his stomach: the universe imploded around him. His chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his shouts. 

Arthur almost got himself off the mattress for the bucking he was doing. One of his arms went round Merlin's shoulder; his hand cupped Merlin's head. His grip on Merlin's hair tightened, and he came, falling apart, feeling as though he'd been remade.

When Arthur had stopped shaking, Merlin untied the knot keeping the tie in place over Arthur's eyes and slipped it off. Arthur was feeling dazed, a step away from break-down via sex. 

He blinked and saw Merlin's awed face.

Merlin kissed him sweetly. He was shivering too, looking as much as a wreck as Arthur knew he must look. 

“You have no idea how beautiful you are when you lose your inhibitions,” Merlin said, clambering back on top of him, Arthur's knees bracketing his sides.

“So you like me like that?” Arthur asked, his voice smaller than he wanted it to be. He rubbed at Merlin's chin with the pad of his thumb.

“I like everything about you,” said Merlin guilelessly. “On top of that I just like to bring out things in you. Things that are there, deep down. Those you maybe be not paying attention to. Because...” Merlin paused, his body jerking when he brushed his groin against Arthur's hip. 

His cock was so hard Arthur could see why he'd lost his train of thought. With a groan, Merlin flexed his hips, nudging him between the legs with his cock. “Because,” Merlin said, his ability to speak momentarily recovered, “if no one's done this for you before then you'll remember me when you get back to England.”

Arthur made a stifled sound in his throat. He cupped Merlin's face, fastening his eyes on Merlin's. “Then fuck me. Give me something else to remember you by.”

Merlin covered him like a blanket and buried his head in his neck, his lips gently nudging his shoulder. “Okay, all right,” he said.

He prepared Arthur with all possible care, going so slow with it Arthur almost wanted to shout. Again. He'd be hoarse before they were done.

And with good reason.

Arthur felt everything. Not that ordinarily he wouldn't have; he wasn't dead. But since he had just come, there was no daze of arousal to fall back on. Nothing to shift his focus away from the mechanics of what Merlin was doing to him. 

He was aware of the way the pads of Merlin's fingers were rough or how being stretched was a little funny, one part uncomfortable to two parts thrilling. 

“You're tight,” Merlin said. “God, you're going to be so tight.”

“I don't do this often,” Arthur admitted – to the ceiling mostly. “I don't go for casual sex. Generally.”

It felt hard to breathe, more fingers popping inside him, the viscous coolness of lube easing the burn he was starting to feel. He breathed in and out so as to relax.

While Arthur tried to regulate his breathing, Merlin snapped a condom on, his hands shaky. 

He climbed on top of him again, his legs falling between Arthur's, his body quivering, Arthur didn't know whether it was with anticipation, the strain of keeping himself in check, or something else.

He wondered at it for a few moments, asking himself whether Merlin was coming apart as he had, whether Merlin felt like his world was changing around him too.

When Merlin lowered himself onto him, kissing him hard, pressing his needy tongue into his mouth he had to let go of that thought though.

There was no thinking when Merlin kissed him like that, as if he might die if he stopped.

It was a clever distraction, too. When Merlin's prick slipped past the first ring of muscle and began sliding inside, a sigh left Arthur's lungs. Merlin gently pushed in and bit by bit and Arthur felt himself opening, stretching around him. 

Merlin fell forward, inching in more and more, his breath on Arthur's neck his body coiled with the tension of reining himself in. Or perhaps with the tension created by being on the brink of pleasure. 

Arthur felt him quivering in his arms, little shakes perceptible at muscle level, felt the tension that pulsed from him as he bottomed out. 

Arthur wanted to soothe him, take the fullness of his weight, tell him he could have everything he wanted. He didn't say as much. There was saying stupid things and then there was blurting out mawkish sentiment.

He didn't even meet Merlin's half-closed eyes. But he put his arm around his waist, and pulled him down, so their bellies touched. So that their bodies couldn't get any closer barring melding one into the other.

Merlin pulled in a deep, shaky breath, and started moving. His warm breath tickled Arthur's neck and teased his Adam's apple, till Merlin's roaming lips found his mouth for a kiss that was all an open-mouthed trading of tongues in the space between their mouths.

The kiss was as slowly devastating as was the rhythm Merlin set. He worked his hips in shallow pushes. 

They were deep, measured, intimate, arousing; the long drags of his cock caused Arthur to feel it all. They sent shudders racing through his body as Merlin's cock bumped against his prostate. His nerves flared alive. They flailed him with how good this was.

With every thrust of Merlin's, Arthur felt the burn deep inside him. 

Pleasure mounted. His cock filled again between them. Shocking almost. It had been a while since he'd been so swift recovering between sex sessions. But then again everything was contributing to his renewed arousal. 

Merlin's serious, attentive face, (Arthur wanted to rub his thumb down his nose), as if he was afraid Arthur might really break. His biting his lower lip into red plumpness. The sucking noises his cock made as Merlin pulled out of him and plunged back in; the slow and deep fuck Merlin was giving him.

As he shifted more quickly, bucking even, Merlin flexed his hips. Their kiss ended in the frenzy but Merlin remembered Arthur. His hand pumped Arthur's cock, stripping him fast and relentlessly.

So as not to shout his pleasure as he climaxed, Arthur whipped his head to the side and bit his shoulder, shaking, shaking as he came, spilling hot ropes of come on his belly and torso.

Not so Merlin because he grunted and groaned quite freely, every little sob of his making Arthur feel proud. Here's what I can give you, he fleetingly thought. That's how I can make you look so beautiful.

Merlin finished with a few long pulls of his cock, jerking in Arthur's arms. He toppled over Arthur, nuzzling the skin in reach of his lips. “I know I have to move eventually but I don't want to.”

“You don't have to.” Arthur gave Merlin a kiss as Merlin shifted and slipped out, leaving him more than a little bereft. Merlin laughed, swept his feet to the floor and passed over to the bin. "Woah, woozy," he said, disposing of the used condom and hopped back on the bed. 

To face him, Arthur rolled onto his side, fighting an instinct to gather Merlin close again. They'd had sex; they were done. 

Arthur half closed his eyes, Merlin a blur of a mass next to him, his shoulders stiff and his body cold now that he wasn't sharing in the heat of Merlin's. 

Merlin reached an arm out to him and hooked it around his waist, pulling him closer. He puckered his lips for a childlike kiss and said, “Don't go all cold on me. I'm starting to think I underperformed.”

“You didn't.”

“Good to know,” said Merlin with a toothy smile. “More comforting than my first assumption.”

Arthur grabbed his face to stamp another kiss on his lips. 

Merlin's dimples became more pronounced. “This is more like it.”

They fell asleep with their bodies tangled, smelling like each other and sex.

When they woke up, it was barely early afternoon. The light trickling through the curtains in warm orange shades told them that. They realised they were still in time to see the Campo di Fiori at market time, so they hailed a taxi and let themselves be dropped in the vicinity.

At the stalls, Merlin bought him food samples, insisting he take a bite of each. He purchased pieces of cheese and warm slices of bread, bright apples, ripe figs and biscuits to eat them on. 

He fed them to him himself so that each time Arthur opened his mouth his tongue grazed Merlin's fingers. Merlin kissed him every time he did that, a hand in Arthur's back pocket, the other cradling his cheek.

The sun went down as they did more of their sampling. "Like the local products?" Merlin asked.

"I don't know. There's certainly something I like. What might it be?"

Before closing up for the day, one of the stall vendors smiled at them and offered them a sip of honey liqueur, saying they were 'cosi innarmorati' whatever that meant, that she had to. 

Arthur realised they were being a bit less than subtle about having slept together and blushed but accepted the freebie.

He also bought an entire bottle of Nocillo to compensate the woman in some way, not fully knowing what had gone in the beverage.

But when they were out of earshot, frown lines went deep into his forehead. “What did that mean? What the woman said?” he asked Merlin.

“Nothing,” Merlin said, feeding him a pasty that tasted both zesty and sweet with more force than was necessary. “Just that... It doesn't matter what she said. But she's made me think.”

“And what thoughts has she inspired?” Arthur asked as jocularly as he could, seeing as the woman's statement seemed to be a topic that made Merlin touchy. He smacked his lips together, tasting sugar, to show how unconcerned he was.

“Thoughts of Assisi. I'm going to take you to Assisi,” Merlin said, dipping his thumb under Arthur's belt as he directed him down the road, “See if I don't.”

Arthur smiled at the promise, wanting to go sightsee with Merlin again. “It's a date, then.”

Merlin nodded and steered him into a winery to spend the rest of the evening at. They sampled wines as they'd sampled the food, growing a little red-cheeked with the drinks as the night wore on. Arthur slurred his appreciation in mangled Italian. Which got him pats on the back and more tumblerfuls.

"Ecco un buon cliente," the owner said. "Have some more. On the house. For your friend as well."

When they tumbled out of the winery, the stars seemed to be twinkling more merrily than usual. Blinking in and out like fairy lights. They also seemed to get snuffed out the moment he and Merlin parted ways, Merlin going home to crack a few hours sleep before his shift, Arthur directing his steps towards the nearest taxi rank.

Arthur didn't remember that Merlin had work the next day until he got back to his hotel later that night. Much later. A little tipsy and bearing too many grocery bags to absolve the rites of normal consumption

He texted Merlin: Haven't you got work?

Not to worry. I'll see to it. You just turn up at the station at around ten on the day after tomorrow.

Arthur fell asleep with renewed hope as to the days to come.

 

**** 

He was browsing the English books section in the station's bookshop when Merlin's hot breath gusted over his neck and he said, “Want to take a boy places?”

Arthur smiled from ear to ear without turning around. “It depends on the boy,” he said. “Is he pretty?”

“Not as such, but he's got other skills to recommend himself.”

Arthur chose the one guidebook that seemed most comprehensive and set it aside to purchase. “And what kind of skills are they?”

“He's an excellent cock-sucker, can engage in dirty talk at the drop of a hat and won't say no to most sex acts.”

“I was looking for someone more multifaceted,” Arthur said, turning around this time to appreciate Merlin's brilliant smile. “For a spot of romance? Pillow talk?”

Merlin cradled his face and gave him a kiss, his lips playing against Arthur's without a hint of tongue. “I can be your Scheherazade. Will you take me where you're going?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “Fancy a ride to Assisi?”

“Can't say I don't.”

On the lower floor of the bookshop Merlin bought himself a few books. All of them in in Italian. It was so he could improve, he said, as he looked longingly at the backs of more dust jackets.

Arthur almost bought them for him, but desisted when he realised Merlin wouldn't appreciate the gesture over much. He'd hinted at his dislike of rich people. And a rich lover who was trying to buy things for him would come across badly in Merlin's books.

Merlin was a chatterbox as they waited for their train on the platform. The wait itself passed by as if it was nothing, forty minutes going by at the speed of ten.

On the train Merlin took pictures of Arthur lounging in his seat and against the background of the window, the countryside blurring past, getting more hilly as the train sped northwards. 

He shared his ration of biscuits with Arthur, played footsie with him and doodled a coliseum on the back of a bookmark when Arthur threatened to get bored with the sameness of the train ride. He even added a number of cutesy gladiators to make Arthur smile.

But when Merlin's mobile chirped warning him of a couple of incoming messages Merlin's body language changed entirely. He jutted his chin out; he straightened in his seat and his eyes set into slits, a flinty coldness to them. 

Arthur hesitated asking him whether something was wrong. It certainly looked it. The more so when Merlin tapped an answer into his mobile, ramming his fingers against the key-pad as if it was to blame for whatever unwelcome news he'd just got. He'd completely withdrawn into himself, his previous happy mood tripped up by sudden flash of distinct irritation. 

When he heard Merlin sniffle though, Arthur couldn't resist asking. “Is everything all right?”

Merlin startled and refocused his blown eyes on him. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, why shouldn't it be?”

“I don't know?” Arthur directed a pointed glance at Merlin's mobile. “Maybe you just got bad news?” 

“What sort of bad news should I have got?” A dry smile quirked Merlin's lips. Otherwise his face was indecipherable. “It's nothing.” He placed his phone face down on the folding tray between their  
seats.

Arthur's eyes were begging for a glimmer of trust. “It doesn't look like it's nothing to me. But I get it if you don't want to talk about this.”

Merlin's face melted into a sweeter moue. His shoulders went down and he covered Arthur's hand with his. “It's not you.”

“Now you'll tell me it's you,” said Arthur with a wince.

“But it is,” Merlin said, making a show of turning off his mobile. “I was surprised by something. Unfortunately, that was nothing that's going to change my life. I was just startled. Nothing else. I can promise you, it wasn't bad news and it's something I can definitely put behind me.” He deliberately gazed out of the window and at the rising ground the rail tracks were clambering.

“You don't have to.” Arthur turned his hand palm up from under Merlin's. “You don't have to play happy-go-lucky to entertain me, you know.”

“I never thought I had to do that.”

“Because I don't need that. I need you as you are.”

Merlin flushed with something like happiness or merriment. Arthur couldn't tell which and could only be sure of the fact that he'd said the right thing. That he'd somehow for once managed to touch someone the right way.

He wasn't actually cursed to be misunderstood; his good intentions weren't destined to be always read awry as his father made him think. He could bona fide communicate if he put his mind to it.

He could get through to Merlin. Merlin got him. It was a nice thought.

As the day progressed, Merlin reverted back to his good-humoured self, even if Arthur could detect a note of thoughtfulness in him that hadn't been there before. 

Now Merlin was being more talkative again although his words came when he was spurred into commentary by Arthur. Once he got going he could natter on as much as he did when he was at his best, but he wasn't the initiator and that marked a change.

This wasn't the Merlin Arthur had got to know. 

Arthur tried to tell himself that he shouldn't probe and that Merlin was perfectly all right. Arthur couldn't know all his moods or variations thereof. It was perfectly all right if Merlin's cheer faltered from time to time. It was a human thing. So he made a conscious effort to put all of this out of his mind and enjoy the time he and Merlin had together.

Later in the day as the afternoon waxed on them, they changed trains, having to rush down the platform so as not to miss the second one. 

Arthur was winded by the time they found their carriage. “I'll have to hit the gym again. Italy is making me lazy.”

“Now I'll make you walk everywhere,” Merlin promised with a wink. "See if I don't."

He kept true to his promise. Once they'd left the luggage at their pension, Merlin steered him out again.

Arthur insisted they buy a map since Merlin had just been in Assisi once and in passing, but Merlin said they didn't need one since all streets would inevitably lead to the St Francis Basilica.

“Relax, trust me. There's no way for us to get lost. And if we do, why that's the fun part. We can ask someone for directions and make friends while we're at it.”

Arthur muttered, “That only happens to you actually.”

“That's because I'm not all serious. People feel they can be friendly to me without fearing they're stepping over boundaries.”

“I'll reiterate, I've got no stick up my arse, as you like to hint.”

Merlin took his hand. “It's just a question of perception,” he said jokingly. "I know you're not like that. Deep down. By the way I was a nice grown up person and avoided puns even though you served one on a platter."

"Pfft."

The steep streets soon put them out of breath so they stopped trading light barbs. They went up a cobblestoned street and found the basilica.

A little winded but grinning, they traipsed up the upper church, the walls and ceilings of which were decorated with frescoes. 

“That's supposed to be a Giotto,” Merlin said. 

“Outstanding,” Arthur said. 

“That's all the art critic in you can bring himself to say?”

“Sorry,” Arthur said, sweeping Merlin down the central nave with an arm slung around his shoulders, “I'm not very good at waxing lyrical or doing so in artistic terms. That's more my friend Leon.”

“You should introduce me.”

Arthur faked sounding outraged. “What, so he can seduce you away from me? Never.”

Merlin's laughter pealed and echoed off the lofty walls. They were being too noisy for a church. Before the friars or wardens could threaten them with eternal fire and brimstone, they decided to get out of it and explore the rest of town.

Still laughing over their Leon joke, they got back to the town centre. In the main square they found a fountain that was ornamented by a column that had a cone on top. Opposite it were a clock tower and a majestic church that was again decorated by columns. It seemed to be a motif around here.

Merlin insisted on taking a slew of pictures of him against each background. “So you'll remember Assisi when you're back in England.”

Arthur didn't say he'd never forget, even without the pictures. He just sneaked one of Merlin's among the many they were taking in case Merlin proved right about the failings of human memory.

Since they weren't tired yet they decided to continue exploring. They walked down the Corso, where Arthur indulged in a bit of shopping. 

He bought a few odds and ends to remember this place by. He felt like he would never want to let his memories of it fade. He didn't want to forget as Merlin had said. 

Not the Giottos nor the columns. Not the hilly lay out of the town and not Merlin's diverted laughter at Arthur's commentary on every sight they saw. Not the air of the place nor its architecture. 

He wanted to commit everything to memory. The peculiar shape of the buildings here, the sound of his feet on the worn cobblestones, the smell of the streets, like the tail end of summer mixed with flowers and a note of balmy Apennines fragrance. 

The way these same streets twisted and climbed and looked like they were straight from another era, making you feel like you'd just stepped back in time.

Like the Middle Ages were back.

He wasn't going to retain all, obviously, but he got himself some mementoes that would prevent oblivion from coming upon him unawares too soon. To jog his memories once he'd got back to his old life. 

He bought a couple of bottle of wines that, he was promised, would taste like Umbria, and a few herb satchels to line his drawers with.

“Your boxers will always smell of violets from now on,” Merlin told him, an elbow to the ribs to help the joke sink in.

“Ha, Merlin, ha.”

At the end of the street they found an archway. They passed it and stumbled in a lovely basilica. They ended up listening to a nuns choir, sitting in wooden chairs placed in the shade, the nuns themselves only heard, not seen.

“That's what I call beautiful harmony,” Merlin said, closing his eyes as if he wanted to enjoy the music without anything else to distract him from it.

“Beautiful,” Arthur said too, head turned so he could bask in Merlin's profile.

They ended their day at an ice-cream parlour, swapping cones so they could get to savour as many tastes as possible without buying rations good for a whole battalion. “This shouldn't be our dinner,” Arthur said. “I don't think it's healthy.”

“Sometimes you have to live like a ten-year old,” Merlin said, giving his ice scream scoop a lick. “Enjoy life with no thought for what happens later.”

“Is that your motto?”

“It used to be,” Merlin said, a shadow passing over him. “Now I'm not so sure. But I try to stick to that principle whenever I can. Because that’s when I'm happiest.”

Arthur wanted to see another smile on Merlin's face. “What does happiness involve then?”

“Eating ice cream,” Merlin said in the tone of someone starting off a list. “Spending the day taking in great views. Basking in the sun.”

Arthur sucked at the side the side of his ice cream, where the chocolate was starting to melt. “I hope your list also involves less than PG-rated activities.”

Merlin snorted, probably inhaling pistachio ice-cream as he did so. “You know it does. You know I like to spice up the PG.”

“Good,” said Arthur, giving his cone a bite. It crunched. “Let's skip dinner and go back to our room.”

“I see, now you're all carpe diem,” Merlin said, “all about the ice-cream and sex.”

“I can't think of a more perfect combination.”

Their room was steeped in darkness; with the windows open, the curtains fluttered in the breeze and the scent of plants from the garden wafted in. 

They didn't bother with the lights, playing it by ear, undressing each other half blindly, the light of the moonlight their only guide. 

They did it with an eager brand of anticipation that was tinged with reverence. 

They let their hands feel the buttons and zips, pushing away at the layers they found. 

Each item of clothing that fell to the floor was like another obstacle removed on the way to the fulfilment of their need. 

Each one went until they were standing before each other naked as the day they were born. 

Their hands searched each other's bodies to awake gasps and in-takes of breath. They paused to acknowledge what they were doing, to savour the moment and take stock of the heat that flared up inside them.

Arthur touched Merlin, awed, and discovered a new meaning in nakedness, in the ritual of sex. The animal ordinariness of it getting a new quality. 

With Merlin it wasn't so much about coming, finding the release his body craved, though there was that too. The journey there was starting to matter more and more.

He wanted to learn how Merlin had sex, in every permutation. He wanted to understand how Merlin ticked. He wanted to get to know the person Merlin was when he got so intimate with someone else there were no more restraints.

All the chaos of it, all the energy that went into sex was mind-clearing in a way. He wanted it; it helped him centre himself, helped him gain a clearer perspective while he was also pursuing something else entirely.

In the hush of the night, they tumbled to bed, tearing the sheets off it as they covered each other, as they fought for each other.

Arthur's chest was on top of Merlin's, his thigh bracketing one of his. Arthur's feet scratched at the soles of Merlin's when Merlin flexed his leg. 

They panted the rhythm of their arousal in each other's ear, Arthur's hands fluttering along the planes of Merlin's body, up his sides, across the swipe of his shoulder blades.

Arthur found himself desperate to find the key to Merlin, the person he was deep down. He hoped that everything could be laid bare as their bodies were. After all there were no more physical barriers between them. 

Not now.

They were too tangled in each other for that to be the case.

As if to confirm that, Merlin's body unlocked to his; they both exhaled with lust when it happened. 

Arthur's cock pushed in until it could slide back and forth inside him, the friction of bare flesh on flesh thrilling. 

“So full of you,” Merlin rasped. “I like it like this.”

Flashes of heat blew Arthur's cheeks red. He groaned in pleasure and began to pump his hips back and forth with abandon, a need to touch Merlin as deep as he could. 

Merlin moaned with pleasure at every push and put his hands up to his shoulders. It didn't seem to be enough; like this satisfied him. Readjusting, he wrapped his arms around Arthur's middle, holding him around the hips. 

Arthur murmured words that were a little like begging and pressed his body against Merlin's, drowning in him. He slammed in and pulled back out. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Merlin, please.” He himself didn't know what he was asking for. He might have rationalised this at any other point, but now he was past reason, his body lost in a storm of intemperate feelings. 

He eased himself slowly back into Merlin until he could go no farther, stuttered his hips forward and came, dragging Merlin with him with a few pulls on his cock.

His body convulsed with orgasm and so did Merlin's.

Merlin fell asleep right off the bat; sliding into it with the swiftness of a tired child.

Arthur watched his chest quietly rise and fall and was assailed by how dear Merlin looked like that. 

His face twitched as dreams crossed his face like clouds skittering past in the sky. His back was pressed up against Arthur's front in a way that generated warmth between them and made Arthur feel cherished.

Yet here Arthur was, failing to grasp something in its fullness because it had so many ramifications. Because so much went into it.

He tried to shake that thought off as too full of consequences to be analysed at this time and to drift off to sleep, but couldn't quite. 

The awareness he wasn't alone imprinted itself on his skin. He attempted to redirect his focus, to picture lighter matters, the events of the day, how they'd led them here, sex with Merlin, as he'd experienced it. 

The memories spurred his libido and he started picturing having sex with Merlin in the future. The thousand combinations their bodies could fit together. They'd fit like a jigsaw puzzle. They'd be perfect.

He saw himself pushing in and out of Merlin as Merlin ground against him. Tasted the abandon of it with longing as if he'd hadn't just come.

He realised he wanted to have that again; that he was hungry again. It was funny in a way.

Arthur poked at the idea. He'd never been as horny as to not be able to feel like he'd had enough. Not right after sex. Maybe as a youth his recovery times had been swifter but certainly not now. So this was a new factor in his adult life.

Why did he feel so on edge? Was it Merlin? Was it the note of mystery that seemed to hang about him like mist to the ground in winter? Was it the spice of this Italian romance of theirs? He didn't fool himself for long about that; it wasn't just the slight aura of secrecy that had drawn Arthur in. Or the novelty.

Its presence or absence wasn't a game changer. Though it might alter things in the future.

Arthur rolled off the bed and onto the floor. His bare feet curled into the fitted carpet, reminding him of just how naked he was. 

He slipped on a pair of boxers, the elastic slapping his flesh. He eyed Merlin's prone form on the bed and then let the scan the room, the desk, the chairs, the window. 

Walking towards the latter, he drew the curtains aside and looked at the deserted street below. Tasted the night on his tongue. He leant against the casement and stood like that for a while, enjoying the calm of the moment.

Then he turned around and properly scanned their room, the state of disarray they'd left it in in their haste to get to the bed. 

Now that he thought about it, he couldn't ignore the mess made by their scattered clothes. With a silent sigh, Arthur started picking them up one by one. 

Fondly, he smoothed Merlin's shirt and draped it over the back of the desk chair. He retrieved both of his socks, after having had a hard time finding the second one, and moved on to Merlin's jeans. 

Since jeans didn't crease, he raked them up more carelessly than he had Merlin's shirt. And was surprised by the dull thud of Merlin's mobile slipping out of the back pocket. 

Hurriedly, Arthur picked it up, pushing random buttons to verify it was still working. The screen lit up, indicating that the device wasn't dead. He wouldn't know how to tell Merlin that he'd broken his phone. But the icon indicating the in-box was, in fact, flashing. Nothing was broken, then. 

Everything was functional.

Arthur was about to secure Merlin's mobile on top of a stable surface when something stopped him. The twinkling little light that signalled an unopened text did it.

Arthur should have put the phone down at this point but didn't. Instead, he scrolled down with his thumb, gave his wrist a flick and that was the input needed to enable him to read the message that had been advertised. Even though he hadn't meant to and wasn't supposed to.

The text was short and cryptic.

He's rumoured to be in Antibes and to be planning to move on to Vietnam. That's all I've learnt. You know what I think about this.

Like a thief in the night, Arthur put the mobile back in Merlin's jeans pocket, making sure the screen that showed wasn't the incriminated text message itself, and sat at the foot of the bed, attempting to make sense of what he'd just read. 

Arthur found himself holding his head in pain.

The message held no meaning for him. Of course, it didn't. It wasn't addressed to him and all references where to facts known to Merlin only. 

Still, Arthur couldn't help but wonder who the 'he' the message referred to was. Why this person was mentioned in a kind of short-hand way that seemed to hint at how important he was. 

The word 'he' seemed to Arthur to have developed ominous connotations. At least as far as Arthur's peace of mind was concerned. Was the man the text hinted at someone Merlin knew well? Was his presence so all pervasive because he mattered a lot to Merlin? Was he Merlin's lover?

Arthur didn't know what to feel about that. He had no right over Merlin. He'd told Merlin he'd be gone when his holiday was done with. He'd implied this was a romance that came with a use-by date. A chapter of their history that had an end before it had a beginning. Maybe he'd said that in response to Merlin's no strings attached deal, but he'd done so and had been pretty lucid when he had.

He'd entered an agreement that had put boundaries to their fling.

He had no rights over Merlin. No rights to demand to have him all to himself or to be told every detail concerning Merlin's life.

Not all aspects of Merlin's life were his to probe. After all, he hadn't told Merlin much about Morgana and how she now hated him and hadn't seen fit to expose his father for the kind of non-parent he was. He’d kept that to himself even though he'd vaguely hinted at some of the facts, letting Merlin make what he willed of it.

So he should let this go and grant Merlin the same kind of privacy he'd reserved for himself. He'd shared a part of himself but not all. Not all. He could extend the same courtesy to Merlin.

He craned his neck and watched Merlin as he turned and burrowed under the covers.

His stomach knotted unpleasantly with waves that left him nauseated and depleted. His head span and he buried his face in his hands. They were shaking. He was shaking. 

“Fool,” he said low under his breath, so low he was in no danger of waking Merlin.

To calm down Arthur started breathing in a more regular pattern, a soothing one designed to resonate with the quiet of the night. 

Once he felt a little less like his head was too light and his limbs too heavy, he lay himself down on his side next to Merlin, his arm anchoring Merlin to bed. 

He'd come to a decision, hadn't he? And he'd play it by ear for as long as they had. He couldn't ruin this before it was over. It wasn't yet and he wouldn't be the one that put a stop to things. Not when the natural end would come anyway.

Why sour something that could be beautiful just because it wasn't as crystal clear as it could have been. Flings were meant to be beautiful and imperfect.

He'd cling to the good in this one. There was plenty.

“It's okay if you're someone else's,” he said at last, the culmination of his thoughts so far. "It's okay."

His fingers tightened their curl around Merlin's hipbone.

Arthur fell asleep in that position, breathing each breath of his on Merlin's neck and promising himself he'd never think about the implications of that bloody text ever. 

**** 

He woke because of the drilling noises from down the street. And because of the cold. 

He'd fallen asleep on top of the covers and while it had been quite pleasant after the sex and while being wrapped around Merlin, it wasn't so now. 

His source of heat had gone.

Merlin had, in fact, rolled away and was now hugging a pillow to himself, his knees curled under him, his arms clutching at the down softness. He was something of a human ball. A human ball pretzled up at the edge of the bed. A little tossing and turning and he'd fall off it. 

Arthur contemplated him as he slept. The overall position made Arthur think that Merlin wasn't all that used to sharing a bed with someone. Or to touching someone when they were in bed together once the sex was over. 

He couldn't be sure of that truth and had just noticed this now, but it seemed true to him, an epiphany of sorts. The thought made him sad.

He couldn't begin to imagine what Merlin was like with his other partner, the one the text message related to, but the idea that Merlin, wonderfully tactile and open when he was awake, could be used to being on his own in bed, waiting for someone who wasn't there, filled him with a kind of outrage he couldn't define. 

He would have probed the matter too if the mattress hadn't soughed and Merlin flipped over, his eyelids flickering into wakefulness. 

“Hey,” he said, bridging the gap he noticed between their bodies to lay a swift kiss on Arthur's lips. “How long have I slept?”

Arthur frowned. “I've just woken myself but I'd say it's eleven.”

Merlin's lips stretched into a smile. “I thought worse. We're still in time for a somewhat belated breakfast.”

“I'll treat you to one.” Arthur pushed off the bed and stood. “I was thinking of that chocolate factory we saw yesterday. Before we hit the convent?”

“A chocolate breakfast,” Merlin said appreciatively. “Who can say no to that?” With those words, he slipped off the bed and stood naked, before walking to the bathroom and turning the shower on.

Arthur's turn came next. When he padded back into the bedroom it was to see Merlin dressed, his jeans on, his mobile in his hand. “Crap,” he muttered. “Battery died. I suppose I should have remembered to plug it in for a recharge.”

Arthur choked on spit he couldn't manage to swallow. “Yeah, looks that way.”

“No matter,” said Merlin merrily. “I'm on holiday. I don't need my phone right now, do I?”

Arthur consistently looked at the floor. “I don't think you do, no.”

Merlin put his phone down on the desk, hooking the charge cable in the slot and plugging it in the socket. “Yeah. Who needs the rest of the world, right?”

Arthur nodded but it must have been an unsatisfactory nod or his facial expression must have conveyed some of his wariness for Merlin stepped closer, put both hands on his shoulders and said, “What's with you now? I thought you were raring to go chocolate binging?”

“I was,” Arthur said. He held his head up. “I am, but--” Here he avoided Merlin's gaze. “But there's something I--”

“I get it,” Merlin said, cheeks showing a set of dimples. “You're thinking I'm being clingy.”

“No, I, what, no!”

Merlin's expression softened; even his smile smoothed into something kinder, more serious. A veil of something like rueful sadness spread over it, him. “I know what I said about us being casual. And I'm being clingy all the same. Let's just say that I enjoy your company and I want to make the most of it till it lasts. But I also completely get it if you want me to back off.”

“No, I don't,” Arthur said, his hand finding Merlin's hip to drag him close. “I don't want you to back off. I want to go have breakfast with you and lunch with you...”

“If you say 'dinner with you' I'm going to think you have a strange food fetish.”

Arthur hiccuped a laugh; thumb playing under Merlin's shirt. “No, I wasn't going to say that.”

“Liar.” Merlin waggled his eyebrows. “But I want to share my meals with you too.” He nipped at Arthur's nose, leaving the tip wet. “As many of those as I can.” He freed himself from Arthur's half-embrace and clapped his hands together. “Now chop, chop,” he said. “Let's get you dressed.”

Arthur nodded and let Merlin help him into his clothes, Merlin apparently taking a liking to dressing him. Arthur found it odd but went with it because Merlin was having fun playing squire. Besides he darted and fluttered his tongue in Arthur's mouth for every item that went on. 

Kind of unbeatable valet service.

For every zip pulled up and button done up, Merlin gave Arthur a kiss. 

“Aren't we doing this backwards?” Arthur asked. “Usually people mack about before undressing.”

“I do love being somewhat original,” Merlin told him, an eyebrow up. “Now let's go eat or we'll starve on our love.”

Arthur's jaw fell open and he stopped on his way to retrieve his key, Merlin already by the door. He blinked at Merlin and dropped the key he'd just got, an old fashioned one with a brass tag attached, which happened to be metal and produce a whole lot of noise when it impacted the floor.

As Arthur dove to get it back, Merlin turned with a confused little frown painted on his face. “Uh, clumsy today,” Arthur said.

“You're just on a sugar low,” Merlin said. “I know how to stop-gap that.”

They went to the Perugina factory in the lower town and had hot-chocolate and pralines for breakfast, with an extra serving of chocolate-chip mini croissants. When they'd had their fill, they moved on, Merlin declaring that he had to burn off the excess sugar or he'd feel hyper all day. 

To burn off their food, they walked up to the Rocca Maggiore, the fortress on the top of the hill that overlooked Assisi. 

The view was spectacular, rolling hills giving way in a gradient to the medieval town. They stayed there to admire it for the longest time, Merlin leaning against the low parapet wall, Arthur with his arms around him, his chin on his shoulder, not caring if they cut an overly sentimental figure.

They got no criticisms but a local, a woman in her twenties, asked if they wanted a photo taken of them. After having patted his pockets for the camera that he'd left in Rome, Arthur gave her his mobile and showed her how to operate its camera. Then he moved back to lean against the wall, the view behind him, put an arm around Merlin's shoulders and smiled, Merlin doing so more cheesily than him.

Photo taken, they thanked the girl and she went away with a wave of her hand and a smile on her lips. Arthur turned and gave Merlin a cautious look. “You didn't mind that, do you?”

“Posing with you, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Why should I?”

Arthur shrugged his shoulders, a few answers he couldn't voice on the tip of his tongue. “I don't know.”

“No worries,” Merlin said, “my face is plastered on countless Facebooks.”

Arthur's shoulders sagged but went up again when Merlin proposed they go back to their inn for a nap.

“No,” Arthur said. “No, I don't want to. I mean, I'd rather continue sightseeing. But of course if you don't want to...” Arthur widened his shoulders and lifted his head a notch. “We can walk back to the hotel.”

Merlin smiled. “You love this place, don't you?” he asked. “I can postpone my nap. After all they said Napoleon was very efficient even on just a few hours sleep.”

“Yes, but haemorrhoids did him in apparently.” Arthur shot an amused smile at Merlin, chest lighter.  
“Tut, tut. Sightseeing's hardly Austerlitz now.”

“I bet.”

“But I can imagine activities that would make sitting astride a horse equally painful.”

Arthur cracked a laugh. He couldn't help it, but Merlin did that to him. All the time. He just made Arthur smile. 

“You're barmy,” Arthur said, taking Merlin's hand and running his thumb along its side for a moment, at the fleshy part between thumb and index. At least until he pushed off the wall to herd Merlin to the bus stop. “You like me that way.”

They reached San Damiano church, a little building set in the olive groves just outside the city walls. They traipsed around its ruins and looked at the intricate Byzantine looking crucifix it housed. One of the countless works of art he'd seen on this odd holiday of his. 

The structure's starkness made Arthur feel small and awed. Here he was in this tiny little church lost in the middle of a forest surrounding a little town in Umbria. Here he was where saints had roamed and travellers stopped to say a prayer or for shelter. Here he was breathing it all in with Merlin, history watching him.

His and Merlin's breaths echoed off the old walls and architraves and so did their words, while the sounds of the woods crescendoed as the afternoon grew old.

They stumbled out of the building chuckling happily, almost losing their way in the thick vegetation. 

Since they'd wound up in a desolate spot that seemed mostly untrodden, they started kissing and groping each other.

They had sex in the grove, crooked trees looming over them, the buzz of insects loud in their ears, the smell of grass deep in their nostrils, a bed of pine needles at their feet.

Arthur lay Merlin down and covered his mouth with kisses. Hungry, ferocious kisses Arthur would keep on giving and giving if time would just stop moving.

They were in the open; so they couldn't undress.

But Arthur shoved down Merlin's zip and took his dick in his palm. He buried his head between Merlin's thighs and got off on it. The musk of him, the scent of him. Him, Merlin, this very special man that always got Arthur's heart to miss beats when they were like this. 

Breathing him in, Arthur pushed the delicate layer of Merlin's foreskin back with his fingers and stroked him, then bent over him and brought his lips down around the head. He licked it, Merlin's wild moans reverberating in the silence of the grove. 

Arthur went further down on him, sucking him slow at first and increasing his sucking the more Merlin thrashed his head this way and that. Doing so until Merlin arched and writhed and sobbed to God above.

Sitting up, Merlin jerked away from him, his eyes screwed shut, one of his hands at Arthur's hips, either driving him close or pushing him away, and came all over himself, pressing his forehead against Arthur's belly.

“Lemme,” Merlin said after a few seconds. “Let me take care of you.”

He got Arthur to straddle him, Arthur's knees digging in the soft ground, pine needles sticking to his jeans.

The same jeans Merlin pulled down to his thighs. He took Arthur's cock out and Arthur could hardly draw a full breath he was so electrified by the touch. 

Merlin had him his in his fist and was sliding his hand up and down, squeezing when his fingers went past the head. He buried his nose in Arthur's neck and murmured endearments. “You're so beautiful. So precious,” Merlin said, making Arthur feel so. “Arthur.”

He mouthed at the skin close to his lips and continued saying things like that, things that moved Arthur to orgasm just as surely as the hand wrapped around his length. Which was stroking him, stripping him of his senses, driving him mad, till he was spilling, and then randomly nuzzling Merlin's face. Until that too turned into a sensual kiss.

When they were done, they cleaned each other as best they could, using the rumpled tissues Merlin had in his back pocket, Merlin saying. “We should get back. Have a shower.”

“No,” Arthur said, taking Merlin's head in his hands and scattering kisses all over his face before looking him in the eye. “No getting back yet. Not yet. Let's go eat.”

Merlin quirked up an eyebrow. “That hungry, uh?”

Arthur committed Merlin's face to memory, every quirk about it. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Okay, then, let's go grab some dinner.”

They rose, Arthur's knees aching, Merlin lifting his arms and rotating them to relieve his sore muscles. There was an indent bearing their shape on the ground.

A while later they got back into town proper and Arthur treated Merlin to a dinner of veggie lasagne and stewed boar of all things. “It's kind of traditional round here,” Merlin said. “What people used to hunt in these parts.”

“I feel like a medieval king.”

Merlin tilted his head. “Maybe with a crown on your head? Yeah, I could imagine that.”

They ate and chatted over their dinner, debating various topics – travel, politics, friendship. There wasn't anything they didn't discuss. 

“I have one good friend,” said Arthur, “back home. I guess friends can become like family in a way.”

“As a child I had a best friend,” Merlin said. “But I'm not an expert on the topic anymore. I move about too much for that. Friendship needs roots.” He waved his hand. “All I know is that family matters.”

Arthur winced. “I truly believe it does but what does it say about you if you can't relate to your own family at all?”

Merlin linked their hands together. “Nothing. You should just fight for your family. But those relationships are very much mutual. If they're not working it's not just you. I can't help but feel that you're a good person.”

“I don't think my sister would agree or that my father would think it a good quality to have. He's pretty much business oriented.”

“Then they don't know a thing,” Merlin said. "A son... A brother, those bonds should come first." Having gone introspective, Merlin paused. As if he'd talked too much on a subject he was no expert of. "Business," he added, "what's that when you compare it to love?"

They ordered second helpings of most everything and flirted over their shared dessert. They ate off a single plate, Merlin feeding him bits even though they had two separate spoons. It took them half an hour to eat half their fruit cake.

The owner had to glare at them to move on so he could free their table for other customers.

At last, the moon rising, they made it back to the inn's lobby, an old fashioned space that still sported chintz décor and telephone boots. Like in the 60s.

Before Merlin could press the lift button, Arthur grabbed him and kissed him. 

“What was that for?” Merlin asked.

“Can't I kiss you?” Arthur asked. 

“You've kissed me plenty.”

“Maybe I'm adopting your carpe diem strategy.”

“Then kiss me some more,” Merlin said. “Upstairs.”

In their room, Merlin started undressing, pulling off his shirt, kicking off his trainers. He wandered to the desk just as Arthur was putting his jacket in the wardrobe. 

Merlin picked up his mobile just as Arthur closed the wardrobe's door. He punched the security code in and started trafficking with it.

Arthur stiffened. Merlin did as well, his body almost on hold as his eyes tracked something. Then he pocketed his mobile and put his shirt back on. “I have to go,” he said, sounding and looking panicked. “I'm in time for the last train.”

He was going for his overnight bag.

Arthur grabbed him and whirled him around. “Wait, what? Has something happened?”

Merlin's expression went shuttered. What a change from a few minutes before when Merlin had been sweet and open. The man of everyone's dreams. “Yeah,” he said. “You can say so.”

“Okay,” said Arthur, not letting go of Merlin, but spreading a palm out. “Okay. Tell me about it and I'll go with you if you give me a moment.”

Merlin shook him off. “You can't,” Merlin said. “You can't come with.” He exhaled loudly. “Arthur, I'm having to call this off.”

Arthur felt something like pain blooming in his gut, like a wound seeping blood and pus. “You mean us?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, a trace of hesitation in his voice. “I mean, I can appreciate you wanting to help but you really can't.”

“If there's an emergency,” Arthur began, “I can be there for you.”

“You should finish your holiday.” 

Arthur threw his hands up in the air. “This holiday,” he said, voice rising like shards of broken glass being tread upon, “means shit without you.”

Merlin's eyes flamed then stopped doing so. His shoulders curved and he passed a hand through his hair, combing back his fringe only to leave it standing on end. “Arthur, I... I can't accept your help because I'm not going back to Rome. Not really. Just packing up my things there and moving on.”

Arthur landed on the bed, feet on the floor, head spinning. The text had mentioned Antibes and Vietnam. Of course. Merlin was pursuing whomever half across the globe and leaving him here. He was losing Merlin. Had lost him already. Had never had him. There was nothing he could do now in the face of Merlin going. Not even closing his eyes would work. Not even ignoring that text would work. What a fool. What a right idiot. “Right.” He barked a laugh. “Of course. What was I thinking? I got it all wrong.” 

He gestured at the two of them, lips quirked up in a parody of a smile.

“I told you,” Merlin said, taking a hesitant step towards him. “I told you I couldn't do more than one night stands. Or a series of those. I told you for a reason, I--”

“I realise,” said Arthur stiffly, harshly. “My mistake. I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have offered to come along. Or protested. We agreed on having a fling, after all.”

“Arthur--”

Arthur threw his head back and clenched his eyes shut so as not to see Merlin's broken expression. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just go, Merlin, okay? Go, not a word more.”

“Arthur, I wish--”

“Enough!” Arthur said, opening his eyes to find Merlin's. They were wet and shining. He was wringing his hands though his jaw had a determined set to it. Like someone who'd made a decision. Just like Arthur had. One clean break was better than letting what he was feeling fester. Self preservation had a name and it was this. “I get it. I'm certainly not the type to make a fuss over a break up.” 

It was true. He'd never been. He'd never mourned any relationship, mostly agreeing to all the break-ups he'd gone through. Lived through like a zombie. Sometimes he'd even initiated them though he preferred to leave it to his partners. Not wanting to be the one to sour affairs that still didn't matter all that much to him. Fighting to put a stop to things that weren't too terrible and none to exhilarating had seemed like too much work.

“Arthur, please, don't be like that.”

“Don't be like what?” Arthur shot up. “I understand, Merlin. You're all so friendly, like a puppy even. People like you. You like sex. I don't blame you. You go around and pick people up and discard them and all the while you know they can't keep you.” He was barking those words now. “Well, I'm sure a lot of people share that kind of morality.”

“You're making me sound horrible.” Merlin's voice was a croak. He shook his head. His lips compressed together. His eyes shuttered after a passing flash of anger. “I told you. There was nothing I could have done differently. I told you. But maybe I read you wrong the way you read me wrong.”

Arthur gave him a curt nod. “Yeah, we were both wrong about each other.”

“I never thought you'd say that.” Merlin's face went ashen though his expression was still mostly unreadable. He didn't look happy, anything but, but Arthur couldn't have told what was going on in his mind if his life depended on it. How such a man could be both an open book and a riddle was a mystery to Arthur. Merlin just swallowed, throat working painfully, and started speaking, but Arthur pre-empted him because he couldn't bear looking at Merlin when he seemed so far off and fragile both. 

He couldn't; it made him angry at himself and at Merlin. He just wanted to scream and it wasn't in his nature. Arthur Pendragon hadn't been brought up to make scenes, however much he might have wanted to cause one right now. 

“Save your breath,” he said, as he might have said, 'Could I have the bill please'. “I'll wait downstairs for you to be packed up and gone.”

He left the room without looking back.

**** 

 

**London**

Arthur stepped into his office, noticing how it hadn't changed in the least. Not even the post-its he'd left glued to his desktop monitor had been moved or fluttered off. In and of itself this was a testimonial to the efficiency of the cleaning staff and their ability to stick to a set of unspoken rules. They knew not to mess with his things. They were respectful and well trained. But finding his office in the exact same shape it had been before left him with an odd sense of time not having passed at all.

Left an odd taste in his mouth, a hollow in the pit of his stomach.

As if between stepping out of this office to go catch a plane and today no time had elapsed at all. As if his Roman holiday had taken place in a time warp. None but him to remember it. His memories burdened with it while all the world had continued on its track.

Sighing, Arthur rested his briefcase on a chair and took his place behind his desk. He hadn't even swivelled his chair into his favoured position when Vivian entered, ticking off items on her tablet.

She didn't even look up but she said, “Mr Pendragon wants to see you. He mailed me three times this morning to find out if you'd come in yet. I told him I'd tell him as soon as I caught sight of you. Since I don't want to die – I'm looking forward to buying those pointy heels from the new Chanel collection and I need to be breathing to max my credit cards – I'd rather you went up to him.”

Arthur's lips twitched. “Thank you, Vivian, I'll do my utmost to ensure your continued existence.”

Vivian looked up. “Good,” she said. “Myror from marketing says he'll have to reschedule. He's undergoing surgery. Knee. He busted a ligament playing squash. Since your afternoon schedule has cleared up I took the liberty of moving around some morning appointments to later in the afternoon so you can enjoy some breathing space.” She moved his briefcase and sat on the chair it had encumbered. “Now tell me how Rome was!”

Arthur's jaw set grimly. The grinding of his teeth produced a low ache that could threaten to turn into a headache. He tried to pull off a smile but was aware of it morphing into a grimace halfway through. “It was all right, I suppose,” he said. “But I had to cut my holiday short by a few days so I could settle things at home. Work ahead.”

Vivian tilted her head at him, her thin blond eyebrows pushing together. “You cut your holiday short so you could work? Weren't you supposed to be taking some time out before...”

Arthur glanced away. “I've made that decision. Having more time to devote to it helped.”

“I see,” said Vivian noncommittally. “I hope though that you managed to sneak in some fun before you decided to come back.”

“Not particularly, no,” Arthur said. “You know how I am.”

Vivian's smile was compassionate and it set Arthur's nerves on edge. “I know. I was just hoping you could...”

She didn't say what she'd been hoping he could do. Maybe she was frozen into silence by Arthur's expression or body language. He couldn't help but flinch at her words. He turned his chair so it was angled towards the window and drummed his fingers on his desk.

The drumming stopped when his phone rang and its red incoming-call light started blinking steadily. Arthur took the call himself, seeing as Vivian was here and there was no point in making her filter his calls when he could reach his hand out himself and pick the call up.

“Arthur,” his father's voice greeted him. “I was told you were back.”

“Yes, Father.”

“That's good. I hope you had a relaxing holiday and that you're now ready to discuss my proposition sensibly.”

Arthur closed his eyes and inhaled through his nostrils. “Yes, sir. I am.”

“I trust this is good news,” Father said. 

Arthur bent down to boot his computer. “I'm coming up, Father. I think we'd better discuss this face to face.”

“But of course,” Father said. “I'll be waiting till eleven.”

Father hung up and Vivian gave him a look. “You've changed your mind, haven't you?” Her shoulders went down in a slump. 

Arthur put the receiver back in the cradle. “Why don't you get me a nice coffee?” Arthur said. “Take the morning off?”

“Oh so now you're trying to bribe me," Vivian said. "Well, I'm a lady; it'd take more than you could possibly ever afford. Something along the scale of massive diamonds. So I'm not going to change my mind.” She started back towards the door. “Now if you'll excuse me, sir, Costa Coffee awaits me.”

“I prefer Starbucks!” 

“I'm not listening,” Vivian said. “Costa is much cooler.”

Before Arthur could shake his head, Vivian had gone. After having answered a bunch of e-mails he hadn't seen to at home, and seeing no trace of Vivian and his coffee, Arthur set his computer to standby mode and made his way to the lifts. 

He pressed the button for the last floor and stepped into the open plan suite of offices that eventually led to the CEO's own.

Walking past his father's PA's position and receiving a quiet nod, Arthur knocked on the semi-transparent door immediately in front of him.

“Come in,” his father's voice bade him.

Arthur closed the door behind him and walked across the wide, sweeping expanse of his Father's sanctum. He stood at attention, letting his father examine him, before sinking a little tiredly in the chair his father's minions generally used.

“Arthur, you don't look well,” Father said, closing the folder he'd been reading. “I hope you didn't indulge your wild side during this holiday of yours. I encouraged your decision to go as a way for you to let off steam before you chose your course. But I've never been a fan of overindulging. You were meant to gain some perspective, and not--” His father waved a hand as if to cover all possible unmentionables.

“I just haven't slept much since coming back,” Arthur said. “That's all.” It was true. Over the past five days he'd had one single decent night sleep. Interrupted slumbers had otherwise been the rule. “And despite that I believe you'll approve of my new stance.”

His father leant forward eagerly, a gleam in his eyes. “Please, bring me up to date.”

A breath shook out of Arthur. “I know I was dead set against becoming vice-president. I know I said I wanted to take a step back and remain a silent partner, a shareholder.”

“I know the terms of that discussion, Arthur, don't beat around the bush. It doesn't become you.”

Arthur's back stiffened and the tendons in his neck bulged under the strain. He loosened his collar and when he felt the ache ease he answered. “I've changed my mind. I won't act on my idea of opening up a horse farm with Ms Gawant. I'll take the job here instead.”

His father clapped his hand on his desk. “That's admirable, Arthur,” he said. “I'm glad to see this holiday has made you see where your responsibilities lie.”

“It has in a way,” Arthur said drily. He tamped down on the surge of memories that wanted to work their way through him. “Destiny works in strange ways.”

“I'm glad you have found your passion for business.”

Arthur had to be honest; he couldn't lie. Reaching a decision as to what was best for him wasn't the same as having found a love for business. While he didn't dislike it, it certainly wasn't the driving passion of his life. He'd thought about this long enough to know that it was so. “I haven't. I was thinking of life practicalities when I made my decision. I thought that pursuing my dreams wasn't worth it.”

“Whatever it was that pushed you in the right direction,” Father said, “this is a commendable choice. And you're right; pipe dreams are pipe dreams. Our empire is real, solidly so. It's the one thing worth fighting for. It's good to know that you've put aside your fancies and come to see this.”

“Father--” Arthur started, both hands around the armrest, arms braced to propel him out of the chair.

Father splayed his hand out. “We'll all help you out so you can get in the groove of things. You can think your action plans out on the yacht we have in Plymouth. In the meanwhile why don't I treat you to a lunch at the Savoy?” 

Before Arthur could say that it wasn't necessary, that he was okay with a lunch at the company's cafeteria, Father had leant over the intercom and buzzed his PA. “Carol, clear my early afternoon schedule. I'm taking my son out to lunch.”

“Very well, sir.”

The Savoy Grill vaunted Art Deco décor, Swarovski crystal bucket chandeliers, and burnished antique mirrors. The seats were covered in velvet and the walls shone with their gold leaf decorations and panelling. Orchids decorated the tables and gleaming marble glinted smoothly in the shape of columns and balustrades. The carpet tricked the eye, looking as it did like a stretch of wooden parquet, but one that let you sink your toes in deep.

They were taken to a velvety round booth at the back by the officious Maitre D'. The seating accommodation proved a challenge to comfort. The seating was too low in relation to the table and everything was out of proportion if it was meant to be employed by human beings not built like ET.

Arthur didn't say any of that to his father, who loved the place, the area, and happened to be friends with its famous chef, but he did silently lament the seating arrangement and the necessity of being here at all. 

Wasn't it enough that he'd given in and was going to fulfil his father's dreams? Did he have to jump through the hoops like this too? Like a trained dog that knew its tricks?

The waiter, who'd come bearing menus, startled Arthur out of his reverie. They ordered, his father getting himself a sirloin steak and Arthur sticking to the appetisers, in the shape of a scallops entrée, and a simple salad.

Hunger had long deserted him.

Over crisply seared scallops topped with tangy lemonish shrimp butter, Arthur and his father discussed the next steps involving Arthur's introduction as vice president. 

“I want it to be on a trial basis,” Arthur said. “People at Albion Ltd already think that you had a hand in appointing me to the position I currently hold.” 

His father had made the offer; that was partly true, but Arthur liked to think he was skilled at what he did, if not inspired. He had the numbers to prove it so he'd never minded the innuendo thrown his way, the rumours that implied he wasn't up to working in such a big company when so young. Because it wasn't true. Nepotism might have had a hand it getting him there but he was good at what he did.

Whereas he felt certain he executed the tasks connected to his position as he should, he wasn't positive he could almost hold the reins of the entire company. 

“I don't want them to think that I got promoted because of you. I want to prove myself and I will have a trial period. I also want everybody on the board to have a say on whether I stay on or not.”

“That's preposterous!” Father said, his fork clinking dully as he put it down. “We all know you have the best head for marketing and finance in the whole company, not just your division. I refuse to have a son of mine subjected to such scrutiny!”

“Father,” said Arthur in a tone that would have invited anyone to keep quiet, “I've given up my dream partnership with Ms Gawant, let me have this.”

“You should court her instead of trying to run horse farms with her,” Father said.

Arthur ignored him. They'd gone over the gay thing time and again and Father still continued to labour under the impression that it would go away or fly under the radar if Arthur was allowed to 'let out steam' from time to time. That the shame, as he called it, wouldn't be public if it took place where eyes couldn't see. “I will have this at least done my way,” he said instead. “Or I won't accept at all.”

Father got red about the neck and face and sweat started to pour down his temples. The vein there throbbed. He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, a punctilious, precise gesture that clashed with his high colour. Arthur had expected him to fly off the handle but instead here he was acting like a cavalier poet at court. In the same manner he calmly put down the napkin, spreading it fussily over his knees and said, “I'll concede, but only because I trust in your performance levels.”

Arthur should have been happy to hear that his father trusted him so implicitly. He supposed that at one time he would have been. Perhaps before he started uni. Or even before then. As a teenager he'd been less sulky and more attention seeking. Perhaps he'd have loved it then. Now his father's sentiment left a bitter taste in his mouth. Even more so when the time to discuss how they'd broach the subject of his impending promotion to the board was tackled.

Arthur wanted to communicate the change in status quo during an informal meeting at Father's house. They'd invite a few select guests and announce their intention together with Arthur's proviso. Arthur thought such an introduction would remind the board members of the family quality Albion Ltd was characterised by and make them less hostile to the slight alterations in leadership. After all everybody knew Arthur would replace old Mr Monmouth with a view to climbing higher and replacing his father when he retired. 

But Father said, “Absolutely not! I'll have Carol call a board meeting due Friday.”

Since he'd won when it came to making his appointment subject to a trial period, Arthur was bound to lose on this one. None of his input moved his father. None of what he wanted mattered. 

“You shall do as I say,” Father said.

And that was that.

Arthur developed gastric pains over lunch he was sure had nothing to do with the food on the menu.

He spent the rest of the afternoon in his office, meeting employees and heads of staff, placing calls overseas, fielding answers to e-mails that would become redundant by the time he'd moved on to fill in the Vice President's shoes. Surely, whoever took over from him, thus controlling Arthur's division, would apply their own policies and provide their own set of answers. Still Arthur ploughed on, determined to get his job done. 

It was in his blood after all. Precision. Commitment. In this he was surely like his father. And if he worked more painstakingly today than he ever had before that was because mindless work – he didn't have to rack his brains over office correspondence – made him forget the worries that went with the prospect of his new position. As to the new job he just hoped he'd perform as he should without disappointing anyone. 

When natural light was no longer enough to see by, he called it a day. An hour short of dinner he found himself at large in the City, with nothing specific to do. He was hungry and didn't feel like going home to a plate of pre-heated something or other and the latest episode of whatever was airing tonight. He had a good bottle of wine stashed at home but the prospect of slowly sipping it by himself wasn't attractive.

He'd done it time and again, a glass on the coffee table, him in his socks, the fire burning in the fireplace and the TV for company. But tonight he didn't want any of that. It was too hollow and discomforting an image, despite its familiarity. 

Since he hadn't eaten much at lunch, venue notwithstanding, he trotted into the closest pub, watching people react to the images on the telly screwed to the wall, eating food that was less than choice but still primordially satisfying.

People were noisy around him; post work gatherings of people sharing in-jokes and laughter, a communal background and easy camaraderie. Chortles and snorts and staccato bursts of jeering. Catcalls and wolf whistles. Gentle giggling and measured laughter.

The colour splash of the TV set illuminating a corner of the floor in sporadic washes of brightness.

Arthur ate slowly and methodically. As he picked at his food, he texted Leon. _was planning clubbing night out. want to come b my wingman?”_

The returning text said: _wingman? since when U reverted to y.13 antics?_

 _since now:_ Arthur wrote quickly.

_not up to much tonite. Where u meaning 2 go?_

_Thinking of the club on Camden High Street,_ Arthur wrote.

 _giving it a pass then,_ Leon wrote, _2 far from my place. Lemme know how it goes._

Arthur dawdled some time longer at the pub, nursing a beer and taking in the goings on. Then, when it was suitably late, he called a cab and let himself be dropped at the club.

When Arthur got in, the headline act was just finishing. As Arthur worked his way into the club's interior, a band called Clarke took the stage. 

Crimson hues illuminated the walls giving the place a sultry boudoir feel. Otherwise the lights were dim, especially over the booths, so as to afford the clientèle a sense of intimacy. Not so where the stage was concerned, for the usual lighting back lit it.

Music swelled from the stage as Arthur climbed upstairs and headed for the bar. He gave the barman a genial smile and ordered himself a Mohito. 

The ice shone green when the glass was pushed his way. Arthur lifted it, nocked an eyebrow at the barman as if drinking his health, and knocked it down.

He put the glass down with a satisfied smile.

A hand descended on his shoulder. A stocky man with baby blue eyes and brown hair smiled at him and said, “Can I buy you another?”

Arthur turned on his stool. He eyed his glass and then studied the man out of the corner of his eyes, his head still ducked. He had a large, square face and a powerful jaw. He was probably a couple of years younger than Arthur and wasn't unattractive in that kind of juvenile way that some men still retained in their twenties. “Why not?” Arthur said, unable to summon a smile. “I'd love to.”

“I'm Owain,” said the man, extending his hand to shake, which Arthur did, saying, “I'm Arthur.”

Owain made the handshake linger a few seconds longer than was strictly casual, not breaking eye contact with Arthur, rather pinning him with his gaze. His thumb massaged Arthur's wrist and only then did he let go in time to thump the bar counter and order, “Another Mohito for my friend here.”

The barman served Arthur his drink.

Arthur toyed with it before taking a sip. 

Owain put his elbow on the counter, fist at his temple as he contemplated Arthur out of wide eyes. “So what is such a handsome bloke as you doing here without a partner?”

Arthur winced and drunk a pull, the alcoholic kick a consolation. He had to concentrate on Owain's good looks and inviting manners so as not to move on. “Same as you, I gather.”

Owain smiled. “Frankly when I saw you I thought I stood no chance. I was sure you'd have a boyfriend bound to appear in a few.”

Arthur squinted against the taste of vodka. “No boyfriend,” he said, tone as flat as possible. “Not the shadow of one.” He set the glass down with a bang.

Owain held his hands up in surrender. “Touchy subject, I get it,” he said. He pushed his stool closer.  
"Not touchy," Arthur mumbled to himself.

Owain didn't even heed his mutterings; he steamed on. “Since you're stag I'm certainly not goading you into talking about anybody else but me.”

“Bit self-centred, don't you think?” Arthur observed, but the sting he'd felt before had already eased and he was now more inclined to listen to Owain and his advances. 

“We can talk about you too,” Owain said, pushing his face close. “You can tell me what it is you like.”

“I'd like to have another drink,” said Arthur. “And for talk to steer clear of anybody but us.”

Owain's smile turned into a leer but Arthur could forgive the man since he'd given him the opener himself. “I'll buy you that drink, but why don't we move this upstairs? It's much cosier.”

The barman served Arthur again at Owain's command.

Arthur took his drink, and followed Owain to the second floor and a plush booth with plum velvet seats. 

As soon as Arthur was seated, Owain slid next to him and cradled an arm around his shoulders. “Much better,” he said.

Arthur went for the glass that he'd put on the table, tilted his head back, and took a long, measured pull. When he was done he smacked his lips together, taking his time before considering Owain again. But buying time didn't seem like an option. As he leant over to push the glass onto the table, Arthur felt the warm press of Owain's thigh nudge against his. He craned his head and he met Owain's eyes. 

The intent was explicit. Arthur got it. There was only one of two things he could do now. 

He had a right to do this. He did.

The kiss didn't come as a surprise and neither did Owain's actions: his playing with Arthur's hair or sucking on his earlobe. 

Arthur let it happen; returned the kisses. They were pleasant and he was equally pleasantly buzzed. He knew perfectly well what he was doing: he was reaping the benefits of nice sensory stimuli and increased responsiveness on his own part. It would do. It would do. There was nothing else, was there? Anything else was a delusion.

Owain's tongue swirled in his mouth. There was little finesse to what he was doing but the right measure of determination. Arthur could detect Owain's intent to make him like the kiss. He approved of that.

A few minutes later they were going at each other's mouths without heeding where they were. They weren't showing any restraint or much gentleness towards each other either. It suited Arthur just fine. 

He breathed and drew back.

Owain's arms went around his neck, his right hand pressing the back of Arthur's head to angle him as he wanted. 

Arthur resented the control; he shook himself free and said, “Why don't we have another drink?”

Owain's mouth contorted in a grimace. “Why don't we move this to mine?” 

Arthur looked away. 

“Or yours.”

Arthur definitely preferred having this happen on his own turf. They left by the back exit. Arthur hailed a cab and told Owain to follow him in his car. Somehow he didn't want to be driven home. 

Some forty minutes later Arthur was showing Owain into his flat.

Owain whistled. “My, my, rich boy. What else are you hiding?”

“Have you come to pass comments on my flat or to get laid?” Arthur barked, less than kind.

He shook his head. What was with him tonight?

Owain passed a hand down the leather of a sofa. “Definitely the latter though I'll admit to liking your fancy place, lover boy.”

Arthur shed his keys in the bowl and hung his jacket on a peg. “Don't call me that.”

“Easy,” Owain said. “I didn't mean to annoy you. We were doing fine at the club.”

Arthur flapped his hand about, scratched his neck. Back there it had been better than this, for sure. If they could dispense with words this would work out much more smoothly. “Yeah, look, why don't we cut to he chase?”

“Okay;” said Owain. “You're such a fine piece of arse. I'll do whatever you wish.”

They moved into Arthur's bedroom, undressing separately and re-converging by the bed. 

Arthur tangled a hand into Owain's hair and kissed his mouth open, feral and sharp. Even as he kissed him, he rooted in the night stand for condoms and lube. 

No way he was touching this man in any other way. It seemed he had a habit involving hasty pick ups in club. Arthur was one to talk since he'd done the same tonight, but he wasn't going to get burned for a single hook up. 

He dropped the supplies on the bed and loosened his grip around Owain's neck, pushing him on the bed. 

Owain's hands roamed his arms and back while Arthur moved against him with intensifying strength. 

They kissed again and again, tongues plunging deep, lips pressing hard, flipping each other over and moving, thrashing until Arthur was again on top, biting at Owain's lips, his cock hard and jutting forward.

Owain slid his hand to Arthur's lap, fisted him tight. “Look at you, you're quite a catch, aren't you? So hard, so strong.”

Arthur gritted his teeth at the shock of unexpected pleasure. He leant forward, slid up the body under his, and grabbed the foil packet and the lube. He handed them to Owain, trying not to moan at the man's hands on his cock. “Do yourself,” he said.

Owain arched an eyebrow at him but he took the stuff from him, kneeing his side to get Arthur to move off him.

Owain was quick and skilled at opening himself up, putting on a bit of a show Arthur watched out of the corner of his eyes. It was arousing, but there was something about it Arthur didn't care for. 

He didn't know what it was, certainly couldn't put a finger on the why this wasn't working as it should, but the sensation was still there.

When Owain was done, Arthur fit the condom over his cock, slipped back into position, grabbed Owain's legs and held them apart. Arthur worked the tip of his cock hard inside him, gripping his hips for purchase. Owain moaned and bucked into him. 

Need driving him, Arthur drove his hips up, fingers sliding down to Owain's thighs, starting a series of short, shallow thrusts that had him humping upward.

As Owain started jacking himself off, Arthur drew back, rocked him forward, then slammed their bodies together again. Before he'd quite realised it, he was driving himself hard and fast inside Owain, Owain responding with mewls and grunts, his muscles clamping tighter around him, the friction working Arthur closer to orgasm while the sounds Owain was making put him off it.

This felt good, but his orgasm was a long way off. The friction was building mechanically but Arthur felt no hint of that warmth spreading into his guts and thrilling his nerves that usually came before climax.

Owain whimpered again, tossing his head this way and that and calling out his name in increasing pitch as he tossed off to his heart's content.

That should have won a smile a smile from Arthur, but didn't.

He fell asleep to the sound of Owain showering and when he woke it was morning. 

The sun was streaming in through the window, the air glistened with its brilliance. It turned the dust motes on a sunbeam into dancing points of white. 

Owain lay sprawled over more than half the bed, naked and lazy, face into the pillow, the tips of his fingers subconsciously grazing the base of his cock.

The doorbell was ringing in a way fit to raise the dead

 

**** 

As Owain made a big production of yawning and waking, Arthur slipped into joggers. “Put something on,” he said and started barefoot for the door.

On the other side of it stood Leon, bearing a couple of grocery bags. “Breakfast?” he said, lifting his eyebrows together with the bags.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Leon, this isn't what I'd call a good moment.”

“Why?” Leon asked. “Yesterday a bust?”

Owain flushed the toilet in the bathroom adjoining the bedroom. “Or maybe not,” said Leon, his tone and expression inquisitive as his eyes honed in on Arthur's bedroom door.

Arthur leant against the back of the dresser, eyes on the floor. “Look, I asked you to tag along yesterday, you didn't. I was alone so something happened.”

More noise came from Arthur's bedroom. When it faded, it was to a prickly silence. “I pulled,” Arthur said to break it. 

Leon wandered over to the kitchen counter, placing the bags on its top. “I can see that,” he said the moment Owain walked in the main room, hands in his pockets, jaw tucked into his wind cheater's collar. “Uh, hello,” he said. “I'm Owain.”

Leon looked Owain up and down, flicked a glance at Arthur, then his gaze flew back to Owain. He pinched his lips together with a smack before saying, “Well, hello, hi, I'm Leon.”

Owain slipped his hand out of his pocket in the semi-universal hello sign. “Did you buy edibles?” he asked, watching as Leon took item after item out of his carrier bag. 

Leon started listing what he'd bought, producing pastries, tea, coffee, and buns. “Want some?”

Owain took a step forward. “Yeah, I could...”

Arthur said, “Owain is going, Leon. I presume he has a job to go to.”

Owain stopped in his tracks and Leon sent Arthur a shocked glare. Arthur couldn't say he was surprised. He knew how curt and cold he'd sounded. Add that to the fact that he'd spent the night with Owain and he'd probably come across as less than nice. But a sense of uneasiness had taken hold of his chest and made his skin prickle with it. It crept upon him and quickened his breath. It wrapped itself around him like a cloak.

Embarrassment hadn't caused him to feel like this. And neither had shyness. He knew he could entertain whomever he pleased. He was single. He most definitely was. He was wronging no one. And Leon wouldn't condemn him for this. But everything felt wrong. Owain's presence here, his having caused it by inviting him to spend the night. Everything. He had to make this stop.

Owain said, “Yes, I do. Have a job to go to. As a matter of fact. So I'll... I'll get you out of your hair.” He walked over to the counter, asked Leon if he could have a bun to take with him, and when Leon nodded, he took and bagged one.

He crossed the room to Arthur and said, “Usually, at this point I'd give you my number.” His eyes raked the floor. “But I guess not.” He walked past Arthur and to the door. He opened it, lingered on the threshold and said, “But I'd ring _Merlin_ if I were you.”

The door closed behind him as he left.

Leon pottered and his activities got a rise out of Arthur. It was the kind of industrious tinkering that was actually a code for “I'm-here-and-I-have-opinions”. 

“Leon, would you stop it, please!”

Leon had just laid the pastry he was fingering on a dish, arranging it along the others in a visually pleasing display. Something he'd never bothered to do before.

Hell, this was Leon. They'd been to prep-school together, they didn't do nice and polite. They'd stopped some time after the first week of their acquaintance. 

They'd drunk from the same bottle, eaten each other's left over sandwiches that still bore the mark of teeth and dipped fingers in each other's food. Ornamental layering wasn't them. 

“What?” Leon said. “I wasn't saying anything.”

“You know how they say that silence speaks louder than a thousand words?” Arthur folded his arms across his chest. “You were being louder than an orchestra. I'm sure the Royal Albert Hall would hire you.”

Leon shrugged his shoulders. “It's just that I wasn't expecting this.”

Leon very shrewdly didn't specify what 'this' was.

“I texted you,” Arthur said. Leon pushed a plate forwards, indicating that Arthur should come and eat. Arthur didn't move. “I told you I was going clubbing. What did you expect? That I'd act like a monk?”

Leon gave a lemon pastry cream a bite, some of the yellow custard dripping from the end of his nose. Arthur pointedly eyed the spot and Leon wiped at it. “No,” he said, paper towel in hand. “I didn't mean it like that. But you must admit this isn't like you.”

“How would you know?” said Arthur.

“I've known you a long time?” Leon said, taking a second bite and swallowing the rest of his pastry. “You're the serial dating type. Hardly the one-night stand type. And even the serial dating has been sporadic.”

And yet Arthur had agreed to a one night stand easily enough. _“I don't do long term relationships. I never do. It seems fair to say. Before.”_ Arthur squinted against the memory, still mulling over Leon's words. If he was continuing down that road, that path he'd sown right then, there was nothing wrong with it. “I've changed my mind,” Arthur said curtly. “Or lifestyle. For the time being.”

Leon waved a hand at his pastry-shop bought goodies. 

Arthur advanced cautiously, having a look at the display. He still wasn't particularly hungry – hadn't been since lunch with his father – but could do with breakfast. Long day ahead and what not. He picked up a bun.

“Who's Merlin?” Leon asked.

Arthur put his bun down on its plate, keeping his gaze from Leon. “No one.”

“Arthur.”

Arthur's voice sounded distant to his own ears when he said, “He's no one.”

“He must be someone if even the one night stand bloke mentioned him.”

Arthur banged both hands on the counter. “He's someone I met. Someone I don't want to talk about. He's already forgotten.”

There was no way he could describe Merlin or what had happened in Rome. Merlin didn't fit the perspective of his life. Merlin had loomed large and was now lost. Arthur knew there was no dwelling in that loss. He'd picketed that area of his soul off. He wasn't about to march his feelings out for Leon to see. For anyone to see. No pieces of Arthur on parade like little soldiers out for a drill. 

He'd never let it happen.

Everything would get back to normal in time. In the meanwhile the subject was best avoided. 

Leon's eyes flared and he put both hands up. “Sorry, I had no idea this was such a delicate subject.”

“It isn't.”

Leon moved to catch Arthur's eyes. “Okay, all right, I'll take your word for it.” He pushed the plate with the bun forward. “Now eat that.”

Arthur did and they shared a few minutes silence. Arthur was relaxing, thinking the morning would now follow its normal course – shower, clothes, work – when Leon piped up again. “I met Elena shortly before you returned. She's stoked. She told me to say she's overjoyed you're back.”

Arthur braced an arm against the counter, passing a hand through his air. “You can tell her I'm sorry. But she should rein in her enthusiasm. I've decided to redirect my efforts. Give up on the farm. Be sensible for once.”

“Give up!” Leon said. “You've been at it for two years, planning, setting the funds aside, and looking for suitable properties to turn into a horse farm. You can't give up now.”

“You'll find that I can,” Arthur said, fighting to keep his tone from rising. Level and non-committal was the way to go. “I'm accepting the promotion. I can't mack around anymore. That's not how life works.”

Leon blinked, looking shocked. And as if he was about to go on a tirade.

Arthur shot him a quelling look and pushed away from the counter. “I have a hard day ahead,” he said. “I'm going to take a shower and go to work. Unless you want to follow me in there and watch me shed my clothes, I suggest we drop the subject.”

Arthur wrenched the shower tap to full blast. Over the sound of the cascading jet of water he heard the sound of the door closing. Leon leaving, evidently. Before moving on with his shower Arthur slumped against the shower wall, pressing his hand against his eyes.

The morning passed quickly by in that Arthur had a myriad appointments. 

He saw people from Legal, oversaw the bonuses he meant to reward his direct employees with before he left, to obtain leave for which he had to contact the HR payroll subdivision, and broke the news of his promotion to his own staff. 

Nobody took it well. He did receive his congratulations but he could see that his employees didn't wish him gone. 

In a way it was heart-warming. They preferred having him there – even if only to complain to – and interact with him rather than have a complete stranger to co-ordinate their efforts.

On a human level it felt rewarding. Though it was probably petty. Especially towards the person who'd get his job and would have to open a communication channel with his staff.

He consoled himself thinking that this would have happened even if he'd moved on to make his dream project with Elena come true.

Elena. With whom he'd have to talk at some point or other. At least before she learnt of his decision from some specialised publication.

But he didn't have to do it now. Not tonight. 

That night, in fact, Arthur hit another club – a different one from the Camden venue he'd met Owain in. His avoidance had been engineered to avoid potential meetings with Owain.

The embarrassment factor had soared too high there.

He had a few drinks, chatted some people up, making sure to keep the subjects light, and brought someone home. He did the same the next day and the next. He made sure to never get drunk and never to be late for work so that his lifestyle didn't impact his performance on the job.

Nobody but Vivian noticed. And she couldn't say anything because she was on his pay roll. She just arched her eyebrows and hit the keyboard with more gusto.

That Thursday was the day he'd selected to visit Elena in Hampshire. He owed it to her to tell her that he wouldn't be her partner. Not with the board meeting tomorrow and his promotion to be announced before said meeting was over. 

Arthur drove up a country lane to the main gates of her property. They opened and Arthur steered the car slowly up the drive. 

The drive itself curved ahead with cross fencing on each side; at first he could see past the fencing and take in the beautiful green meadows vista beyond. 

Small farms rose here and there to catch the eye, their roofs glinting in the afternoon sun. But as the drive meandered towards the heart of the property the view changed and he found the road to be lined on both sides by pines and stately elms, which stopped him from gazing beyond them.

He stopped the car outside the front and met Elena on the porch.

Two Great Danes and a Pooch were dancing around her, noses up in the air, the bigger dogs' bark thunderous, the little one's tail wagging frantically. 

Arthur kissed Elena's cheek and said, “Hello.” He hoped the Danes would steer clear of him. He was even fine with the Pooch chewing the hem of his trousers as long as the beasts kept at a reasonable distance. They were only friendly to Elena and sniffed him warily, a slow growl on their breath, as if weighing him for threats to their owner. Such a behaviour coming from such hulking creatures was unnerving. “I thought I'd drop by.”

Elena slapped the dogs' rumps, sending them scurrying. “Leon said you would.” 

Arthur pocketed his car keys. “Leon? Leon called you? Did he say anything?” 

Arthur had hoped to break the news himself. Letting a few days go by between making a decision and telling Elena hadn't been right. He shouldn't have kept her in the dark, believing they'd go ahead. That they'd buy their property and make a mark in the world of horse rearing. 

She needed to be told and, as much as it pained him, he wanted to be the one to do it. To make amends and break it kindly to her. Leon had had no right to meddle.

Elena gnawed on her lower lip, shifting her weight, and wringing her hands. “He said nothing. He was so cryptic. Just that he thought you'd drop by.” Elena tilted her head at him, eyes almost bulging out. “But he sounded ominous and now you look as if someone killed your pet. So I think I was right in believing something was up.”

Arthur put a hand on Elena's waist, steering her away from the big looming house behind her. “Why don't we go talk about this in the gazebo? It's a nice day for it.”

Elena shrugged. “I'm wearing wellies so I suppose we can.”

The dogs raced ahead is if they knew where Elena and Arthur were headed. Arthur and Elena kept behind in silence.

The gazebo was large and slightly raised at the centre. A granite path lead to it, showing it off as its crowning glory. 

The structure itself looked sturdy and cared for. It was decorated with wind-chimes and multi-coloured flower arrangements. 

The steps were painted a snowy white and were a little worn, indicating what a favoured spot the building was. 

The day was crisp and cool, silvery mist creeping up from the countryside around and floating on the air, the afternoon sun peeking benevolently out of a veil of clouds from time to time. But it had rained the night before so the cushions dotted around the bench were still wet. 

Arthur sat down all the same and so did Elena, the dogs sprawling at her feet. She scratched the nearest one's ear and made big eyes at Arthur as if to invite him to speak.

Arthur leant forward, his elbows on his thighs, and steepled his hands together. “I don't know how to say this so perhaps the best approach is honesty.” He paused, making sure Elena was listening. She was. “I can't be your partner in the horse farm enterprise anymore, Elena.”

Elena let out a high pitched noise, a wail almost. “On, no,” she said, cupping her cheeks in consternation. “Why? Have you gone bankrupt?”

Arthur shook his head. He had to love Elena and her blind faith in him. Of course she'd think that nothing short of him having lost all assets would make him back off. 

“No, Elena. I'm to become Albion's vice president. It's a change from the last time we spoke together, I know, and I should have informed you of it sooner, but it's just that. A decision about the course my life needs to take. No emergency. It was just time I saw where I stood in terms of dreams and wish-fulfilment. High time for me to grow up.”

Elena's brow creased without a thought for vanity, skin wrinkling in ripples like orange peel gone dry. “So you think I'm being a little girl by pursuing my dreams? That I'm being immature?”

“No!” Arthur hurried to say. “Absolutely not. Not you. You've lived and breathed horses all your life. Of course it's the right thing for you to do. Me though? I'm just an amateur, Elena. I love horses. I love riding. It's freedom.” He let his voice go up, his hands move. A tear stung at the corner of his eye. “But it's a hobby. And I should treat it as such.”

Elena appraised him. Arthur felt like she was trying to see through him. 

“I've never heard you talk like this before,” she said. “You were so enthusiastic about this. We spent so many nights looking into properties. Are you sure this isn't some kind of emotional slump? Or fear for the future? I can wait for you to change your mind again.”

Arthur smiled. “That's lovely, Elena, but I'm afraid I've made up my mind.” He slipped his hand into his pocket. “But that doesn't mean I'm going to quit without compensating you for the loss.” 

He pushed the cheque in her hands.

She took it, unfolded it and shoved it back at him, covering his hands with hers an instant later. 

“Arthur, I'm stinking rich.” She curled her nose up in distaste. “I don't need any money. I certainly wasn't considering a partnership with you because you'd put in a quota.” She expelled a breath. “I wanted it because you love horses as much as me.”

“Nobody loves horses as much as you.”

She grinned. “True. Almost as much as me. And I thought you had the passion it took to get the project off the ground. And a mind for business, which I don't have. But I can't force you. So all I can do is wish you well on your new path.”

Arthur chuckled softly and nudged her leg with his knee. “Thank you. You're very special, Elena.”

She pinked up a bit, her peaches and cream complexion coming alive with it. “Nobody's ever said that to me.”

“That's because they're all idiots.” He leant it and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I'm sorry I disappointed you.”

“Don't be,” she said, making faces to get him to smile again. “I wish you all the good in the world.”

“That sounds like a farewell,” he said. “I hope we'll stay friends even if we can't be business partners.”

She grinned. “Of course,” she said. “And to prove that I'm going to ask you to stay a while longer so you can ride my new purchase, Thunder.”

“You'd let me?” Arthur asked.

Elena rose and pulled him up with her. “Of course. Now come.”

Having been lent a pair of riding boots, Arthur followed her to the stables, the smell of hay, oil and leather filling his nostrils and lifting his soul. 

He recognised Thunder immediately even without Elena pointing him out. 

Thunder was a tall dappled grey with a clear full eye, long legs, and a pure white mane worked into alternate bands that looked a little like a plait. He had a darker tail that contrasted with his paleness and that made Arthur think of sleek Arabians. He was also gifted with a powerful neck and muscular jumper's hindquarters.

A beauty of a horse, and a well-cared for beauty at that.

His tack was made of 100% leather, bossed and fringed; the saddle and bridle were as splendid and the saddle blanket as smooth as you may wish it to be. Arthur could tell Thunder was Elena's favourite.

He reached up and caressed the horse's forehead. He traced his fingers around Thunder's clever, soulful eyes, around its widening nostrils, and along his thickly veined neck. “You're a beauty, aren't you? A true beauty.”

Thunder snickered and lowered his head to him so Thunder could rest his chin on Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur laughed in delight, throwing his head back. “Yeah, I like you too,” he said, when the laughter wasn't making his words incomprehensible.

He and Elena saddled their mounts, Arthur getting Thunder since they were so 'cosy together'. When the horses were ready to be mounted they led them out.

Elena had already climbed astride her Hanoverian.

Arthur took Thunder's reins, put his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg gently over the saddle. No sooner was he seated than Thunder started to move, going where he wanted. Arthur jerked the reins back. “Hey, ho! Be a good horse and do what I say.”

“He loves you,” said Elena, “and he's itching to be taken out.” 

Arthur was eager too. It had been a while since he'd gone for a ride. He had missed it like nothing else in the world. When he was riding he wasn't a city boy anymore. But a free man at large and at one with nature.

He felt powerful and unbeatable. The sky was the limit.

The passion for riding was rooted deep in Arthur's soul. 

Perhaps sensing Arthur's anticipation, Thunder started off at a rapid pace, Elena and her Hanoverian following. 

On a down-slope skirting the property and leading into wide parkland, Thunder picked up his speed to a full canter, allowing Arthur a spectacular view of fields and wooded foothills.

The pace was an invitation to breaking into a gallop, so Arthur put his spur lightly to Thunder's side and Thunder got it, rattling along at full tilt and flying down the slope. 

Arthur lowered himself in the saddle, wind blowing against his hair and face, reddening it, his chest riding the horse's neck, his belly against him, down to where his legs straddled the saddle.

His pulse raced; he smiled against the force of the wind. This – this was what being alive felt like. 

Short rides, long ones, full gallops that made you at one with the earth. It didn't matter. Arthur adored the feel of the wind lashing his face. The hurtling past. The pace. Feeling the horse's withers beneath him.

He loved the gallop, no matter where it was taking place, a muddy track, a country lane, the open fields. He loved it as a kitten loves to play, as a man loved his lover, deeply, intensely, shockingly – he had reason to know – the thirst for it never slacking.

He whooped and cheered and shouted his satisfaction at the sky, Elena racing him, goading him, ultimately winning but not without flashing him big smiles or checking that he was okay with it.

When the sun climbed down, they picked their way back for fear of unseen obstacles.

Arthur would never hurt a horse and neither would Elena.

Elena said her goodbyes by the stables, saying, “Know that you're always welcome here.”

“I think I know,” he said, looking at Thunder over Elena's shoulder. He pawed the ground and snorted his own goodbye. It made Arthur desolate to leave. “Elena, you gave me a great gift," he said, restraining himself from voicing all his thoughts. "The gift of a great, unforgettable day and your lovely company.”

Elena didn't blush at the words. She just said, “I wanted to give you a taste of your dreams, even if they have to be put by. Because you're a friend. Remember, we can do this whenever, even if it's just a hobby for you now.”

Arthur nodded. “Thank you.”

He kissed her cheek and she escorted him to his car, the shape of her in her tall riding boots dwindling away in the rear mirror.

All the way back to London Arthur couldn't help but think what good a girl Elena was. He'd expected her to blame him for leaving her in the lurch at the last minute. He'd been sure he'd lose her friendship. But she'd been a star, never giving him room for doubting how earnest her offer of support had been. Besides, she'd given him the time of his life. Together with Thunder.

If the world were populated by millions of Elenas, life would be easier. He could rest more easily for sure. Breathe even more so. If only his own father was just a bit like her his course would be so simple.

Unfortunately, wishing for impossible outcomes and for people to change their basic nature would get him nowhere. 

He'd have to make do.

Elena seemed to know the secret of positive thinking. But Arthur didn't. And life wouldn't change on him for wishing it so. If only Arthur knew how to reconcile Elena and his father, what they each represented, then Arthur would know how to live his life.

His visit to Club 49 that night was more perfunctory than not. It was more him trying to stick to the pattern he'd initiated earlier that week than him attempting to indulge. His mind was somewhere else, on a field in Hampshire, and, if he let himself thing about it, somewhere in Southern France too.

Nevertheless he danced to commercial R&B tunes and chatted up a bloke who soon lost interest -- perhaps as a consequence of Arhur's own non-committal behaviour. He did all this with a different spirit compared to the nights that had come before. He wasn't looking to hook up. 

He listened to the music instead even though it wasn't precisely to his tastes and got himself a Sambuca at the bar.

That was when he saw him: tall, slender, and dark haired, wearing a green shirt that was riding up at his hips. 

Arthur left his glass at the bar more than half full, shouldered his way past the milling couples on the dance floor, and just when he thought he'd lost him, grabbed a hold of the man's wrist, spinning him round.

Upon seeing his face, Arthur let go, shoulders slumping. The man's eyes were blue, but flecked with copious amounts of green. They were large set and the shape was all wrong. His mouth was thin, too thin, almost a line that disappeared into the folds of skin around it. He wasn't bad looking, but he wasn't what Arthur had been looking for either.

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought you were someone else.”

The man's eyebrow went down; his scowl dissolved. “Apology accepted,” he said. “Now I'm almost sorry it wasn't me you meant to stop and grab.”

Arthur scraped a hand through his hair. “I was looking for a friend. I thought you were him. You look alike.”

The man danced closer. “Seems your friend isn't here though,” he said. Arthur detected some eyelid batting. “Maybe you could do with a stand in? I wouldn't be against it.”

“I--” Arthur said, unable to spit out more words when the man plastered himself to his front, grinding their hips together. “I don't--”

The man scoured his face from under his lashes and his hand went to Arthur's hip, enveloping Arthur in an embrace that was too intimate for strangers. Even strangers that were flirting.

It was the suggestion of closeness that made this seem all wrong. Real connections weren't formed this way. 

No, a real connection was something else. No matter what those blue eyes inspired. What this man's form suggested. 

True, in his gangly eagerness the man would have appeared cute if he were the real thing. But his moves came across as too studied, jarring, and Arthur felt like he was an actor on a stage, faking feelings he was supposed to harbour.

That he'd harboured. That had burnt under his skin. In relation to someone else. The real thing. The real deal. 

“Are you sure you're going to say no to me?” the man said coyly. “Think about it. I can be very nice.”

Arthur's chest rose as he caught his breath. “No, I thank you for the attention. It's flattering, but no.”

“Well, you started it!”

Arthur put some space between the man he'd made a grab of and himself. “I apologised.”

The man's shoulders went down and so did his voice. “All right, it's true. Well, if you don't want to--” He pushed his eyebrows up. “-- then I suppose I'd better not let the lads wait.” He jerked his thumb backwards, pointing to a gaggle of individuals gathered at one end of the dance floor.

They were already clearly discussing Arthur.

“You'd better go, yeah,” Arthur said. He smiled an apologetic smile. He made this one sincere. Once he had, his chest expanded and he set his shoulders wide, as if they were suddenly free of a weight.

“All right, then,” the man said. He looked over his shoulder and at his companions for a second, muttering, “Pity,” and then went to rejoin his friends.

Arthur didn't tarry long after that, preferring to leave the club early. 

He left it alone for the first time in days, walking fast to his car, wind whipping his hair over his forehead and making him smile. 

He was sure he'd made the right decision and that caused a sort of high. 

His blood was pumping quick, his mood lifting. He drove home and put himself to bed at a reasonable hour, the silly smile not fading from his lips until his muscles had grown lax with his body.

The next day, the fateful Friday that was meant to mark the one big change in Arthur's life, saw Arthur in the ante room to one of the main offices, up on the fourteenth floor. 

He'd already watched four board members file in, briefcases dangling from their arthritic hands, their shoulders stooped, their beards a collection of whites and greys and salt and peppers. Their shoes shone in the dappled sunlight streaming in from the ceiling high windows; their suits were as carefully pressed as military uniforms dolled up for a parade.

They gave each other shoulder pats and shared jokes about their wives, kids, and the dog that had chewed their slippers. They talked about their summer houses in Portugal and Spain. About the stock market or the opening of the New York stock exchange yesterday.

"Plus 0.50. Not as bad as we'd been led to think."

"Yeah, but world economy is not on the mend yet."

“I agree. Though you have to look at micro and macro economies. Look at the east. Asia's coming on more strongly than ever,” old James Kay said. “One day we'll all be eaten alive by Asian competitiveness.”

“You're right,” his interlocutor said. “You're sadly right.”

The floor secretary tapped at her computer. When a new board member turned up, she signed him in without looking up. 

Officious PAs waltzed around in the periphery, holding steaming Styrofoam cups for their bosses, even encumbered as they were with reams of files, tablets, and smart-phones that were pinging, ringing, buzzing.

“Can you send me the Monmouth file?” the Marketing Director said.

“Your Bluetooth working?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait a sec and then tap in your PIN number.”

“I do so hate Blackberries.”

Arthur closed his eyes, took a breath, and thought back to the feeling that had washed over him the day before when he was spurring Thunder on, the one that accompanied into sleep. 

Arthur lifted his own briefcase and stalked past the floor secretary's desk, bumping into Mr Monmouth as he came in and Arthur headed for the door.

“Where are you going, my boy? Shouldn't you be going in?" Monmouth asked a touch petulantly. “Have they changed venues? I'm not going into the lift again. You know I'm severely claustrophobic.”

Arthur unbuttoned his double-breasted blazer. “No, they haven't. The meeting is here and you won't need to take the lift again. I'm the one who's going.”

Monmouth frowned. “But where? I thought I was meant to pass on the baton today.”

Arthur curled his hand around the old man's arm. “You can hang on to it a while longer, Mr Monmouth. I have a plane to catch.”

He'd gone before Mr Monmouth could close his mouth or ask any more questions. 

 

**** 

Not wanting to alert anybody at Albion as to where he was going and what he was doing, Arthur hailed a cab. This way it would take his father longer to trace him than if he'd taken a company car. If he had his father would have known where he was going in the time it took Arthur to breathe word of it the driver.

As it was, he told the cabbie to drive to his place and to wait for him, went upstairs to throw some clothes into his suitcase, and jogged back down again. 

“To Heathrow,” he said once he was in the back of the cab again.

The cabbie caught his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Sure you don't want me to drop you at Paddington?”

“Sure.”

“It's far cheaper if I do.”

“I'm aware,” Arthur said. “But I'm in a hurry. Don't want to be held up by train schedules. However short the gap in between trains.”

Maybe he'd only waste as little as a quarter of an hour but speed seemed, somehow, essential.

"As you wish," said the cabbie, giving him a practised shrug Arthur caught despite the partition between them. "Money's yours."

The car rolled into motion, Arthur's suitcase slipping sideways to bump dully against the door. As Arthur tried not to drum his fingers against the leather seat, they eased into traffic, buses and other cars ahead and behind them. They reached London's periphery, the City's tall buildings far behind them.

As it turned out, Arthur's choice of a cab had proven wise. The traffic heading out of London was light, and nothing happened to slow them down. Arthur got dropped relatively early at the airport.

The first texts from Arthur's father started raining in some time later, but by then he already had his plane tickets. And even if he hadn't, he wouldn't have changed plans. There was something he had to do and he would see it through.

If he failed, he could say he had tried and not given up at the first hint of an obstacle. You had to fight for what you wanted otherwise how could you prove your worth? 

He turned his mobile off at the incoming hail of texts and, ducking his head, stepped into the plane.

Two hours and a half later a wet Rome welcomed him. It was drizzling; and the air smelt like rain. He got a taxi to the city centre and checked in the first hotel that seemed to offer the most common facilities. Finding a room was easy enough since the height of the tourist season was past and most of the hotel was empty. 

He followed a bellman into the lift and was ushered into his room. Arthur freshened up some, left his luggage on its rack, took the lift down and begged a map of the concierge.

While bending over to retrieve it from behind a low desk shelf, the concierge started rattling off the names of a series of tourist places Arthur could head to if he wanted to grab a bite or see a show. “I know where to go, thank you,” Arthur said, too worked up to be less than brief.

He was so close now. He just wanted to go an be done with it.

“Do you want me to call you a taxi, sir?”

Arthur looked past the revolving doors of the hotel and at the street. It had stopped raining and the weather promised a turn for the better. “I'll take the train, thank you.” 

He needed to walk anyway. Couldn't stay still much longer. He needed time to think about how to couch his request and he needed to stretch his legs after having spent hours sitting both at the airport and on the plane.

Retracing his own footsteps wasn't difficult; he had a good sense of direction once someone showed him around. Retaining a memory of where to go was easy for him, too. The doing of it was a melancholy business though. But a couple of weeks ago he'd been walking these streets with Merlin, laughing with him, joking with him, Merlin leading him somewhere Arthur hadn't thought he was able to go.

A hollow feeling lodged in the pit of Arthur's stomach at the thought. These streets empty of Merlin were like a manifestation of the loss he felt. A lack of something that made him feel weak, drained. As if he was going without something vital. As if his brain was shutting down without it. 

The bare concept of loss, the thought of it, numbed him to logic. 

And yet electricity radiated through him in little sparks that started under his skin. 

Perhaps it was the brisk pace he was keeping that had caused him to feel that way. Or maybe it was just hope making him feel so primed. He didn't know. But he tried to cling to that sensation rather than to the hollowness of loss.

The train ride was uneventful; Arthur watched as his fellow passengers listened to music and as they browsed their i-Pod track lists. He listened to them as they talked in hushed tones to one another. He observed them as they pushed their way to the door, and hopped off the train. A child screamed his discontent at his mother. She didn't seem pleased.

The kind of happenings typical of train journeys everywhere.

Arthur got off at his stop and trekked up hill, till he sighted the weathered Borgo San Lazzaro Church. 

He knocked on the closed door as Merlin before him had done but this time nobody opened. 

Could Brother Gaius have vanished too? If he had, Arthur was at a loss for what to do next. At the thought his heart emptied and somersaulted in his chest. He needed that connection to Merlin. If that connection was gone things might be more complicated. Way more.

Please, let it not be so. He wasn't sure he could take failing right at the outset and for such a stupid reason. A link in the chain going missing. It was too much to process right now. 

He was aware that even finding Merlin was no guarantee of a happy ending. But he wanted to get there first. He could take a no from there. But he needed to try. To pour his heart out. And do so face to face. To do what he hadn't done the day Merlin pronounced them over.

Arthur steadied himself and tried knocking again, this time using the flat of his hand and making much more noise. This time the door creaked open to reveal Brother Gaius.

“I know you,” Brother Gaius said, squinting up at him from under a raised eyebrow. “You came here with Merlin a while ago.”

Arthur felt relieved to find the old man remembered him at least. He didn't know what he would he have done if he hadn't. It would have made for a more awkward starter for one. “Yes, I did.” He inclined his head at the interior. “Can I come in for a moment?”

Brother Gaius eyed him warily but let him in and led him into the rectory, a space you could pass into it from the church.

The vestibule was kept spick and span and so was the office that Arthur had caught a glimpse of the other time he was here. 

The room Gaius inhabited was small but airy. It had a window, which sported a definitely modern shape, and furniture that if not exactly futuristic wasn't antique as the church attached was. 

There was more than one mattress on the bed and the table was clearly multi-purpose, still bearing as it did the debris of a Spartan dinner, and a few documents Brother Gaius must have been studying.

Brother Gaius stood rigid behind a rickety chair and said, “So what brings you here?”

Arthur was quick to answer. “Merlin.”

Gaius lowered himself into the chair he'd pulled back and invited Arthur to do the same with the one opposite. “Ha, that boy, yes. He'll drive me mad one day.” 

Arthur sat across from Gaius and joined his hands together on the table so he wouldn't gesticulate when he tried to explain what he was doing there. “I'm looking for him. I tried his phone but his number must have been suspended. I can think of no other way to contact him than you.”

An idle internet search performed on his mobile earlier had yielded no results barring a locked Facebook account.

“I see,” said Gaius. “Care for some wine?”

Arthur's mouth slacked open at the non sequitur. 

Gaius pushed himself to his feet and rifled the cupboard stashed in the corner that served as kitchen. He prised a bottle of red wine that was covered in cobwebs out of its depths. Then he rummaged through drawers in search of a bottle opener. He brought both back to the table and then went to fetch glasses.

When opened, the wine bottle released a musty, tangy smell. Brother Gaius poured Arthur a glass and pushed it towards him, then laboriously sat down again.

Arthur drank out of politeness, the wine tasting surprisingly good despite its sour smell. 

“Merlin does that,” Gaius said at length. “Flit around, I mean. But I have a question for you. Why are you looking for him?”

Arthur wasn't about to go into detail but he knew that he had to make this count. “Because we were together and I fell in love with him.”

Gaius' eyebrows danced upwards. “I see. So now you want me to tell you where he is?”

“I know how this sounds,” Arthur said. “Like he sent me packing and I'm now stalking him. But it's not like that, I--”

“You were faced with Merlin's stubbornness,” Gaius concluded.

Arthur felt the need to explain. He had an inkling this man knew more about Merlin than was immediately apparent. Not that Arthur knew anything about their interactions except for what he'd gleaned from their one meeting in his presence. 

“I know he thinks he's in love with someone else and that he's pursuing him and staying constant to him in a _A Very Long Engagement_ way, but that person isn't there for him and I want to show Merlin that I am. That I'm gonna be. I want to plead for a second chance while we both have an equal understanding of things. Cards on the table and all that.”

Gaius seemed confused. His brow puckered and he shot Arthur an odd look. “Merlin never told me about his escapades.” Gaius gestured vaguely, clearly at a loss as to how to express himself. 

He began again: “Even though I've heard everything in my line of work Merlin has never shared that aspect of his life with anyone. Not even me, old friend that I am.”

“I can well imagine.”

“What I mean is,” Gaius went on as if Arthur hadn't said anything, “is that I know Merlin's had a few quick flings, not that he ever said as much, but even an old friar like me can tell. His eyes would sparkle when he found someone he liked.”

Arthur hoisted the bottle and drank directly from it. “I see,” he said with a grimace at the alcohol intake.

“Not that he ever got promiscuous,” Brother Gaius said. “He was just being a boy his age. I let it pass. But what sounds striking to me is the way you're putting this. You said he's pursuing someone specific and important to him. As far as I know you're the only man he's ever mentioned to me. I met a few other of his friends but you're the only one he told me about. Spoke to me about in a way that made it clear how different you were to him.”

“Brother,” Arthur said, doing his best not to hope, “I thank you for trying to lessen the blow but it's all right. I read the text. I know about the man Merlin loves.”

Arthur caught a blink from Gaius. “Text, what text?”

“The one Merlin got when he was with me,” said Arthur, only belatedly realising that wasn't explanatory. “The one that said, _'He's rumoured to be in Antibes and to be planning to move on to Vietnam. That's all I've learnt. You know what I think about this._ '”

Arthur had always been able to rely on his memory; and that text was something he'd never forget.

Gaius guffawed. “You think that text referred to a lover?” he asked, tears in his eyes now. Arthur didn't find it funny in the least. He'd had to live with the implications of that text and the consequent rejection for too long for him to be able to. “You truly thought it was something of that kind?”

Arthur's heart climbed into his throat; he pushed himself to the edge of his seat. “Wasn't it?”

“No, it wasn't. I would know. I sent that text.”

“You did?”

“Yes.” Gaius nodded wisely. “There was nothing romantic about it.”

“Then what was it about?” Arthur asked, quivering in place, nervous excitation making him do so.

Gaius looked leery of revealing too much. “I don't want to betray Merlin's trust,” Gaius said, even if it sounded as though he was pondering talking further. “Though I'm inclined to tell you some of it because of the way Merlin spoke about you.”

Arthur wasn't sure he could take the knowledge that was about to be imparted to him. He didn't want to know what Merlin had said. But he did hope he could find out more about the text and the state of Merlin's heart in general. He'd staked a claim on it, in his own way, so he was curious about it. “Please, tell me what you can.”

“Merlin isn't looking for his lover,” said Gaius. “I would have probably helped even if that had been the case. If he had his heart set on it, that is. But truth be told, Merlin is tracking down an old friend of mine. Someone I used to know back in the day when we both served in the same place.”

Arthur couldn't help but frown in confusion at this. “But why would he go to such pains to find an old friend of yours?” 

Gaius drank a quiet sip of his wine. “Because that man is his father.”

“His father?” Arthur wasn't sure he understood. “He's looking for... He's looking for.. Why? Is he gone?”

Gaius nodded wearily. “I'm afraid he is.”

“So what?” asked Arthur, putting two and two together and sussing out a history of abandonment from Gaius' words. If Merlin was looking for his father it followed that his father had left at some point. And that Merlin hadn't reconciled himself with that loss. “Merlin's father abandoned Merlin? How long ago was that? And more importantly--” Now Arthur knew he sounded incensed but there was little he could do about it “--what sort of man does that?”

Gaius pushed his chair back as if he wanted to rise to show his indignation. He didn't, though his glare stopped Arthur mid rant. “Balinor was a friend of mine,” he said in a voice that was calm but forbidding. “I'm not saying he didn't make any mistakes, but the situation was more complicated than you might think and he's trying to make up for what he did in any way he can.”

“He's trying to make up for abandoning his son?” Arthur asked, mouth set in a stern line. “I'm sorry I don't buy it. If he was repentant he'd have gone back to him.”

Gaius shook his head and the way he did it showed how sad he was about the whole business. There was a heaviness to the movement that spoke of a burdened heart. “Life isn't always that clear cut,” Gaius said.

“But it is,” Arthur protested, still vehement, still touched to the quick. “Sometimes it is that easy. You either love your child or you don't.”

It was a lesson Arthur had learnt the hard way. Love couldn't be proved but the absence of it could be felt.

“Says the man who walked away from Merlin the moment the first obstacle arose,” said Gaius pointedly. He brought his glass to him mouth and drank as if to make it easier for him to speak. “A fictitious one at that. You may say it's the same thing.”

Arthur's cheeks stung. “I've come back though.”

“Balinor thinks he would be twice damned if he did the same.” Gaius bit his lip and fidgeted in his seat, making Arthur think he believed he'd spoken too much.

Arthur pressed. “I don't see how reparation is bad.”

Gaius let out a big, rattling sigh. “It is,” he said, “if the one action that led you to it is a sin.”

Arthur's tone had a ring of incredulity to it when he said, “ A sin?”

He'd never heard the word mentioned in such a context, like making amends to your son, to be quite honest.

Gaius finished off his glass, took it back to the kitchen and left Arthur staring after him, making Arthur believe he had pushed the old man to the point of animosity. Arthur wasn't going to get what he wanted now. 

He'd managed to piss off a friar, brilliant. So maybe Gaius was mortally offended now and would button up forever and ever.

Amen.

Arthur was already berating himself for being too rash and saying what he thought, when Gaius came back. He listed against the table but did not sit. “All I'm going to say now is in the strictest confidence,” he said.

Arthur moved his head up and down to indicate acquiescence. “Of course.”

“Back when Merlin was born, Balinor was a man of the cloth, like me.”

Arthur opened his mouth and no words came out.

“We were both in Wales at the time,” said Gaius, “Prior to this Balinor had enrolled into a specialised program to enter the ministry as a Franciscan. He'd just taken his solemn vows, you see.”

“Solemn vows?” Arthur asked. He wasn't a very religious person and hadn't been raised Catholic, so he didn't know the jargon, but he did have an inkling he'd got the meaning anyway. “Does that mean they were permanent vows?”

“Yes,” said Gaius, pain unmistakable in his voice. “One of those was chastity. I presume you can guess the rest.”

Arthur saw where this was going. “But he has a son.”

“Obviously he broke that vow, ”Gaius said a little heatedly. His shoulders slumped; the fight had gone out of him and Arthur was left looking at a man that looked older than he'd seemed but a moment ago. “I don't approve of what he did, or rather the timing of it, but he fell in love. I'm sure his sentiments were pure in as far as they could be seeing as he and Merlin's mother, whom I also knew, didn't ignore the carnal aspect of their relationship.”

“So Balinor left Merlin and his mother behind for the church?” Arthur deduced.

Gaius' eyes flashed again but with pain more than anger. “I need more wine for this,” he said. However he didn't pour himself any more and just tinkered with the bottle awhile. 

“No, he didn't," Gaius ended up saying. "He could have asked for a dispensation from his celibacy vow. With how things stood back then he would have been given it. 

The policy was to avoid scandal and the issuing out of punishment unless it was for very serious matters. But he would have had to declare that he'd made a mistake taking his vows, denouncing his ordination as invalid. I don't think he could, deep down. Yet Balinor was aware of having broken promises he'd made in good faith.” 

Gaius' voice grew melancholy, as if he was distinctly remembering a specific conversation. “He couldn't live with that knowledge. So in order to cope he left the church.”

“He left the church?”

Parroting people was a bad habit but Arthur couldn't help trying to get more meaning out of the words by way of iteration.

“Yes, he did,” said Gaius. “It tore at him but he did.”

Arthur was perplexed. He couldn't see how Merlin had ended up perpetually looking for his father if the man was free from the church. “I don't get it. There was a woman he loved. He knew he had a child. He'd left the church. Why didn't he settle down into family life?”

Gaius' eyes probed him. “He didn't know about Merlin. And maybe he didn't wait to find out because he felt he'd committed a sin.” Gaius' tone was a request for understanding, mercy maybe. “He's been atoning ever since. Globe trotting in order to help missions and charitable institutions.”

Arthur's hands curled into fists, there on the table for Gaius to see. “And Merlin has been looking for him all this while and you've done nothing about it? Letting him do what? Chase the man across the globe?”

“It's not a matter of letting Merlin do anything, young man,” said Gaius. “I think you've met Merlin.” 

There was more innuendo laced in Gaius' tone than Arthur would have expected from a man wearing the Franciscan habit. “If you have you should have learnt how stubborn he is.”

Arthur allowed himself a lopsided smile. Yeah, he thought he did. And that Merlin was stubborn indeed. “Yeah, I do. I know.”

“Then you'll easily believe me when I say that he wouldn't take my advice,” said Gaius. “He's hell bent on tracking his father down. Finding Balinor isn't easy. He's rejected most modern appliances. I only hear of him from time to time since he still uses the old church connections to do his charitable work.”

Arthur saw that now was the time to ask the question he'd come here to ask. “Can you tell me where Merlin is? Maybe I can convince him to...”

“What?” said Gaius sternly. “Merlin's made this his life pursuit. He thinks finding Balinor will make his mother happy again. I'm convinced Merlin believes he will find his own happiness as soon as he can actually speak to the man.” 

Gaius paused to suck on his gums. “I'm sure Merlin likes you very much, Arthur. You're special to him or he wouldn't have mentioned you with such--” Brother Gaius flailed his hand about. “Vehemence. But I don't think anything on this planet could persuade him to change his course of action.” 

“Maybe not,” said Arthur, “but I can be there for him.”

Gaius didn't seem convinced so Arthur added, “I know how to take a hint. If he sends me packing again then I'll know I stood no chance. But if... if he's closing the door on us because of some sort of life mission he has...” Arthur's eyes were boring into Gaius'. “Then I can be there for him. Maybe make him understand that I'll stick to him even if he goes gallivanting around the world.”

Gaius stood abruptly, his chair rattling back. Arthur was sure this time he'd really put off the old man and rose too. 

Before Arthur was quite vertical, Gaius had left the room. Arthur wasn't sure he should follow. Perhaps he should leave instead? He was bothering the old man, making him speak of things he clearly wished buried. There had to be other ways to find Merlin that didn't rely on pestering a friar... Perhaps.

Whether there were or not he didn't want to give up on this.

Gaius broke his reverie by coming back and pushing an envelope into his hand. 

“His address is in there,” he said. “Mind you, Balinor was supposed to move on to Vietnam as soon as he could. At least those were his plans last I heard from a common friend who knows about his whereabouts and intentions. Which brings me to this.” Gaius' eyebrow went up for the umpteenth time that evening. “Let's work on the assumption Merlin might not be there anymore either.”

Arthur didn't even open the envelope. His hands felt too clumsy; his arms too heavy. “I'll try to bear that in mind. But I have to go and find out for myself.”

Gaius tilted his head, his eyes studying him from under those forbidding eyebrows. “I have no doubt of that.” He paused, let that sink in and added, “Know that I wouldn't have helped you if I hadn't thought it the best thing for Merlin.”

Arthur hinted at a grin, rolling his shoulders up. “I'll do my very best to do good by him.”

“I hope so,” said Gaius. “Now go and leave this old man be.”

Arthur clutched at his envelope. “Thank you,” he said.

He left, turning the note that he'd discovered in the envelope round and round as he walked back to his hotel, memorising it in case his manipulations destroyed the paper. 

It was time to do some searching of his own.

 

**** 

 

Arthur landed in Nice, the air balmy with the taste of the sea, palm trees shaking in the wind. 

He took a bus to the city centre and didn't even bother with checking into a hotel to get some rest. Instead he followed his map and walked till he saw signs indicating, “SNFC” in bold purples. 

He queued in the ticket office and some time later boarded the high speed coastal train that would take him to Antibes.

As the train sped past he had a view of sandy beaches, blue sea and promontories that followed the coast. 

Some stations were mostly just a couple of lone platforms with overarching roofs and blooming mimosa stands either side of all benches. The scent of flowers on the rain-laden air followed them for a while after they'd left those stations behind. 

The train criss-crossed the landscape, climbing up and then riding sloping tracks. The view out of the window came to consist in flatter ground tumbling into the sea. 

It would have been a splendid sight, if Arthur had been of a mind to pay attention to it.

Unfortunately, he was too busy deciding what he would say if he found Merlin to actually focus on the spectacle unfolding before his eyes. 

He walked into Antibes from the station, down a large avenue, past the fort and veering round the ancient town gate. 

That day was apparently a market day and the smell of lavender chased him all the way down the street, past an awning, and close to a church sporting a baroque façade. 

This was roundabout the time Arthur found out he was a little lost. So he whipped out the paper note bearing the address Merlin had last been at and started asking around. 

He was set on the right track by an old weathered local and soon came into view of a two floor villa with ivy trailing down its pink stone walls. 

Arthur trudged to the door and pressed the buzzer. Surprisingly, the door was opened without any need for him to say who he was.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor, till he found that the name on the door plaque corresponded with the name on Gaius' note. He sounded the door bell and a boy with curly hair and a struggling hint of moustache opened it.

Arthur asked in his best French whether Merlin was there, his pulse throbbing at his temple with weariness and anticipation.

“No,” said the young man. “He was though.”

Arthur gave a small start, hope and fear both trying to strangle his words. At last he asked, “Was he? And you wouldn't happen to know where he is now?”

“I don't,” said the boy.

Shoulders down, Arthur was about to say 'thank you' and turn around to make his way back to Nice when the boy said, “But I know someone who knows?” 

“Really?” Arthur was now fidgeting on the doormat, clinging to the note Gaius had given him. “Couldn't you ask them for me? It's really important.”

“I could, yeah,” the boy said. “But she's not in.”

“I see,” said Arthur, not yet willing to yield the doormat. 

The boy caught on Arthur's nervous eagerness because he smacked his forehead as if to stress how stupid had been not to think of whatever solution he'd come up with before now. “But she's coming to our party.”

Arthur blinked stupidly; the boy pulled him inside the flat without a by your leave. “The one we're giving later. She knows. She'll tell you. You'll have to do nothing but ask her.”

Arthur didn't fancy staying on for this party. He didn't know the boy from Adam. “Maybe if you just called her?”

“Who?” asked the boy, “Florence?”

“If she's the girl who knows where Merlin is.”

“I haven't got her number, have I?” the boy said. “But she's coming for sure.”

Arthur followed the boy along a hall and through some glass doors. 

He was ushered into a square room where a lot of people were assembled, ages ranging from eighteen or so to Arthur's age. 

They were drinking beers but some of them looked a little high on something that could in no way be ale. 

A soft drum beat was wafting off the stereo, one girl swaying to its rhythm as though in a trance, eyelids quivering, eyes tracking beneath them. A man whose head was shaved was massaging her bare feet, which were in his lap.

The boy that had opened the door introduced him, Arthur supplying his name for the crowd and learning the boy's.

It was Luc; he didn't catch the surname. 

Luc offered him a drink; the choice was beer, absinthe – bought on holiday in Amsterdam – or vodka. 

Arthur accepted a beer as the least harmful and sat on the edge of an armrest, slowly sipping at it while the people around them went on with their subdued party.

Two girls danced to the drum rhythm until they got tired and sprawled at their friends' feet. One of those boys turned on the TV, claiming he wanted to see the match between OM and Auxerre.

At first Arthur watched it too for something to do; it gave him an excuse for seclusion, time to think, and the match even got interesting at some point.

But then the light fading from the window attracted him to the balcony. 

It smelt like primroses there, the sea blazing a blue tinged with saffron hues out there in the distance. The glint of the waters around the pier made him think of the summer that had just spent itself. 

Boats glittering with lights clove the sea towards the harbour. The tops of orderly trees – olives, cypresses and palm trees – lined the promenades. 

If he squinted he could guess at the string of beaches and town houses that curled around the coast and picture the shape of the latter till the ground rose to pre-Alpine splendour.

But even without imagining peaks, crags, and shoals he could definitely see how enchanting the panorama was. 

Even the small gardens from the neighbouring houses with their terracotta rooftops were beautiful to look at. To the left the balcony peeked over a small villa's patio, flowers blooming wild. A little savage. Alive in the way nature could be. Beating to its own primal pulse.

“You're thinking it's beautiful,” said a feminine voice. 

Arthur turned to see that a red-head had joined him on the balcony. “Yes.”

“You're thinking,” she said, “that Merlin would have fit in here.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You're Florence.”

She snapped a leaf off a basil plant that had its roots in a round vase and smelt it before putting it in her mouth and chewing it. “Yeah, I am. I think I can call myself a friend of Merlin's, I suppose.”

Arthur observed the play of the dying sun on her hair; it looked as though it had been set on fire. “Where is he?”

She leant against the railing, looking out to see. “Paris.”

He moved closer to her, his back to the railing, his face angled towards her. “Paris is big.”

She spat the leaves out of her mouth. “He's at a friend's place. Meant to book a flight to Vietnam but found he was short of cash. He's saving money now. Working tables at a Marais café. I found him that job.”

Arthur pushed off the railing, “I need an address.”

Her fingers closed around his wrist. “All in good time. You need to relax. Spend the night here. We'll tell you about Merlin if you do. We have wonderful stories about him.”

Arthur could do nothing but agree. His bones ached enough for him to stop pushing on anyway.

He spent the night at Luc's, listening to Luc's friends' stories about Merlin: how he'd come with a recommendation from the curate of St Benoit, how he'd turned up with two canvas bags for property and a big smile, and how he'd offered to help with the flat in exchange for a place to crash at for a few nights.

He'd ended up going to the market for them each morning and cooking them meals, redoing the coat of paint in Audrey's bedroom, and reorganising Luc's book collection using a fancy colour coding method Luc loved. Because, “I'm into chromatic clashes, man.”

“On top of that Merlin was helping the curate with the parish kids,” said Audrey, who was one of the girls who'd danced to the drums tune before. “By the end of his week the curate didn't want him to go.” 

“Merlin's great. You can tell he's been around,” added Luc, impressed.

“Gave us the address of a hostel in Flanders. We're all going next month.”

Arthur's heart warmed at these tales of Merlin; he could see him do all those things and take pleasure in them. He could see him trying to adapt to new conditions fast, winning new friends in the blink of an eye. He could see how he could have put roots here. A smile bloomed on his lips even though he was tired. It was a nice thought.

He yawned. 

“You're done for,” said Florence. “Come,” she said, offering him a hand up from his seat on the floor. “Merlin's trundle bed's still free.”

“I can't,” he said though his eyes were tearing up with how knackered he was. He'd been moving non stop for the past two days and his body was grinding to a halt.

“You want to look a little less like death warmed up for when you meet him,” Florence said. “From what Merlin told me about you he'd be pleased if you looked as if you were in health.” She stopped then deadpanned. "And if you looked pretty too."

Arthur blushed scarlet; he could feel flames licking up at his face. “I--” In order not to say anything compromising or too intimate, he followed her to the trundle bed.

Upon lying down he found it smelt like Merlin.

“Sleep tight,” Florence said. “Tomorrow's going to be a big day.” He thought he'd heard her say, "The day you meet the man who loves you," but couldn't be sure that wasn't his tired mind reworking his daytime wishful thinking into words that were never said.

On the following day Arthur didn't stay past mid-morning. He thanked his hosts, was kissed on the cheek by each in turn, some of them winking at him, Florence saying, “Say hi to Merlin from me,” and was given a croissant to bolster him till lunch time. One of the boys gave him a lift to the airport.

By the time he landed in Paris his ears were ringing obnoxiously with trying to adapt to decompression for the third time in four days.

They were still sounding a military tattoo as he picked his way through the narrow Marais streets he found after having threaded his way from the great traffic artery of Rue de Rivoli and into the tangle of streets west of Place des Voges. 

He walked past countless cafés and funky shops. He bumped into countless people as he fought his way past them. He stumbled into the wrong turn more than once until at least he spotted the place.

And saw him. The muscles along his stomach tightened; seeing him was like being punched in the centre of his chest, where his heart was.

Merlin was serving the tables at an outdoor café, clothed in black from head to foot: shirt, trousers, shoes. 

His shirt was open at the collar, two buttons popped open, a hint of collarbone showing. He was wearing a bright red apron and bearing a big tray laden with at least six dishes, a kind smile on his face.

He was bending down over the table he was meant to serve when he looked up and caught Arthur's eyes from across the street. 

His mouth fell open. He froze like that and dropped his tray, the dishes crashing all over the pavement, food scattering everywhere. Sauces spilled from the little bowls that went with the dishes; silverware clattered down, glinting off in steely colours as it precipitated. Shards flew just about everywhere. 

One of the patrons' dogs, sensing a feast, tore at its leash to go and have a lick.

Merlin first dropped napkins in the lap of each patron, then started picking up the remains of the dishes, saying, "My fault. I didn't know what I was doing. Sorry." 

Just then a man who had a managerial air about him came out and started shouting at Merlin in fast French. “Mais que est ce que tu fais la, bordel!” he yelled and continued on quite virulently. Arthur thought he caught more than one choice insult.

Before he could hear more Arthur had crossed the street and stopped the man from slapping Merlin over the back of the head. He gripped his wrist tight, ready to hurt him if he threatened to touch Merlin.

“I suggest you don't do that,” he said.

Merlin told Arthur, “Thank you, but I could have seen to this myself.” He turned to the staff manager and said, “If you'd hit me I would've gone to the police. As it is, you have my resignation.” He undid his apron, balled it up and threw it down to stomp on it.

Arthur let go of the manager as Merlin disappeared into the café’s interior to re-emerge wearing a jacket and pocketing his wallet. He stalked up the street in a huff and Arthur went after him, not bothering with the weasel who thought he could strike his employees.

“Merlin,” he called out. “Merlin, please, wait. We need to talk.”

Merlin stopped, shoulders hunched, and Arthur caught up with him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, a sob trapped in his voice, lurking around the edges of it. He scrubbed a thumb up the side of his nose, the sleeve of his jacket engulfing his hand.

Arthur placed himself square in front of Merlin, looking at his bowed head. “I have things to say to you.”

Merlin nodded distractedly, chest heaving. “Yeah, that's--” He breathed in sharply. “Christ, Arthur, you have no idea.”

Arthur said gently, “Probably not, not if we don't talk.”

“Sorry,” Merlin said. “We should. It's just that that man upset me. He was the worst boss I've ever had and now-- Now there's some things I won't be able to do.”

Arthur followed Merlin to the flat he shared with Florence's friend. Since it was working hours, there was no one there but them. 

Merlin showed him to a tiny room that was so small Arthur couldn't breathe. It had the barest essentials, a bed frame with a mattress and duvet thrown on top, a folding chair, and Ikea boxes standing in as clothes containers. The window was more of an arrow slit than an aperture and the door gave onto a tight hallway leading to a dumpy bathroom.

Merlin sat heavily on the bed, twiddling his thumbs. “Arthur,” he began.

Arthur forestalled him, splaying his hands out as if asking for time. “Hear me out, okay?”

Merlin signed 'yes' with his head.

“I'm not stalking you,” he said. “Well, I followed you but I'm ready to turn around if you want me to.”

Merlin heaved his shoulders. “It's not--”

“But I want to say this first,” Arthur said. “Because I didn't have the chance to before.” He laughed. “To be honest, I did. I just didn't have the guts to before.” He regulated his breathing so he could say this calmly even though he was anything but. “The reason I was so angry when you told me we were done was because you and I weren't a one night stand to me.”

Merlin looked up sharply, nostrils quivering. He didn't say anything so Arthur took that as a cue to continue. He took the lone folding chair and straddled it backwards, putting his hands on top of the flimsy back rail, his chin on top of them. 

“You could have told me a hundred times and I wouldn't have got it because from the very first I fell into it – us – headlong,” Arthur said, “I've been wanting to tell you for a while. But you matter to me. A lot. More than you can guess probably.”

Merlin passed feverish hands through his hair, “Do you? Really? More than being, you know, into me because of the heat of the moment...” Merlin's voice grew thoughtful as he said, “You can be very much into something even if it's not very serious. Sometimes you burn hot and it hurts but...”

“Will you shut up?” Arthur said, but with a smile on his face to lessen the sting. “I know my mind. What I feel for you... I've never felt it for anybody before. Give me the benefit of the doubt. I know what I feel.” He lifted a corner of his mouth. “I do. You may not, but I do.”

“It's not a question of that,” said Merlin. “It's just that dreams don't come true, do they?” He threw his head back and closed his eyes. 

“Are you saying that because of your father?” Arthur asked gently. 

Merlin's head snapped up and his eyes widened. Realisation dawned slowly upon him but when it did he blurted out, “Gaius. Gaius must have told you. Everything.”

“Not everything,” said Arthur, “I had it in the broadest brushes.”

“He shouldn't have,” Merlin said, a tick to his jaw indicating how angry he was. “It was my mum's private life!”

Arthur moved to kneel at Merlin's feet, putting both hands on his knees. He met Merlin's eyes. “Now it's out,” Arthur said. “It's okay if you're angry with me for knowing. Or with Gaius. But don't be ashamed of the truth. You're great. Whatever happened back then.”

“I'm not ashamed,” Merlin started, then changed tack. “I'm proud of my mum. But it's my biggest secret. People would think I'm mad if they knew. Knew I'm chasing after my own dad. I mean how pathetic is that?”

“It's not pathetic,” Arthur said, the back of his hand grazing Merlin's knuckles in a half aborted gesture that never became a pat. 

Merlin sniffed and shrugged his shoulders. “But if you know that,” Merlin said, “then you know that I've got to go.” Merlin gave him a small smile. “When I'm not broke anymore that is. But I must go. In case he wants to get to know me.” He snorted at himself. “I'd have a father then.”

“I'm not saying you shouldn't go,” Arthur said, rubbing his thumb over Merlin's chafed knuckles. He must have worked hard at washing dishes. “I'm saying: take me with you.”

Merlin gasped. “I can't,” he said brokenly. “I can't be in a relationship with this looming over me. I just can't. I feel like drowning and I can't.”

Arthur's fingers tightened on Merlin's. “Then take me as a friend. As moral support. I promise I won't ask for more.” He sought Merlin's eyes with his, not even knowing what he was communicating there. He'd give Merlin what he needed. The rest would come if he could just show him how much he meant to him.

He moved his thumb over Merlin's knuckles again, more soothingly this time.

Merlin studied him closely, lips thin and eyes wide. “All right,” he said, making Arthur break into a smile. “As a friend. I'll be glad to have you.”

Merlin's lips briefly grazed his, sealing the deal, causing tingles to shoot up Arthur's arms and his heart to pound. 

“I'll be there for you, promise,” Arthur said, unable not to cling to the feelings Merlin's closeness gave him.

Merlin drew back, brushing Arthur's hair back from his forehead and watching his mouth in wonder. “Thank you. That... that actually means the world to me.”

Arthur's smile mellowed but his heart didn't stop racing.

A friend. He could do that.

 

**** 

Light washed over the tiny bed, waking Arthur. 

Merlin lay snuggled up to him, his breath fanning over Arthur's neck, tickling him.

Arthur blinked to focus and took in Merlin's sleeping face. It had grown smooth under the influence of rest. 

His lips were slightly parted, his facial muscles relaxed. His skin bore the traces of a day old scruff.

His dark lashes lay still and the angles of his face seemed a little less pointy now that he wasn't conscious and tense. It was beautiful but for the lack of something. Arthur could see none of Merlin's usual animation now. 

Merlin had dimples. When he smiled, two small indentations folded into his cheeks. Now they were absent – as they'd been for the past two weeks as Merlin struggled to get the money to fly out to Vietnam – but that didn't matter. Arthur knew they'd reappear sooner or later.

Thinking that, Arthur watched Merlin for a long moment, taking in the sharp features he'd come to love so much before smiling to himself. 

A pang caught him; he wanted to wrap an arm around Merlin and pull him close. He wanted to kiss that face and that stretch of neck. He wanted to find the heat they'd generated back in Italy again while knowing full well that now was not the time for it.

He subsided; his thoughts inappropriate at this juncture.

Calmer, Arthur stretched, his feet pressing against the metal foot-board, and laced his fingers behind his head. When he turned it was to find that Merlin was peering at him. 

“Hello,” Arthur said, “this seems to be a fine morning.”

It was raining and they could hear the pattering of it against the tiny window. “Not really,” Merlin said.

“It's the thought that counts,” Arthur said, sitting up and folding his hands across his stomach.

Merlin put his hand on top of his. “I'm sorry you have to put up with this.” He eyed the bedpost behind them. “It's just that I can't afford a larger place. Actually I can't even afford a larger bed. And I can't take your money.”

“I know,” said Arthur, sliding his thumb down one of Merlin's fingers. “I said it was okay.”

“I just don't want you to think you have to stay here with me,” Merlin said, “that these are the conditions – sharing when nothing can happen – because I know how hard that is.”

“Is that a pun?” Arthur joked. 

Merlin reddened becomingly. Arthur leant closer even though he'd schooled himself into acting the way that was best for Merlin -- to be who Merlin had asked him to be.

Merlin's eyes went to his crotch, where Arthur could detect a faint stirring his own body echoed. “No, no it wasn't,” he said hurriedly. Arthur thought he'd never seen Merlin being so shy before. Merlin was the one that was free with his body and his love. It was strange that he should change so now that he was so worried. But Arthur could accept it because he knew Merlin was at a turning point in his life. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with the living arrangements.”

Arthur changed their hand hold so he was the one pressing Merlin's hand. “I'm not.”

Merlin's eyes grew pensive as he tried to work out the meaning behind Arthur's words. “It's just that I know how it looks. This. Us. I just need time. But I don't know how--” His face went still as if he was thinking hard. He turned, still expressionless. “You've been so great. A great friend.” A long breath rattled out of Merlin's chest. “I don't know what to say because nobody had really been that for me.”

He cupped Arthur's chin so that Arthur's next breath was breathed against Merlin's skin. Arthur's heart twisted and softened, a shot of pleasure dancing down his spine at their proximity and the praise in Merlin's words. “I'm glad.”

“You don't have to put up with all this for much longer though,” said Merlin. “Two more weeks and I'll have the money for the plane tickets.”

“Then I'll wait,” said Arthur, “and tag along when you've got everything sorted out.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said but Arthur spoke before they could argue this point again. As they had done almost daily lately. “You said 'no' to borrowing money from me. While I fought that I can understand why you're so against it. But do you really need to question my decision to stand by your side?”

“Only if I think it'll make you unhappy,” Merlin said, studying him closely.

“It never will,” Arthur reassured him. “Now go off to work.”

Merlin smiled at him and rose, stretching on his toes. He looked beautiful like that, all spindly lines, and stretches of skin bared for a cursory peek as fabric got rucked up. Arthur's gaze would have lingered if it could only have.

These days Merlin was always in a hurry. He didn't have much time to indulge in any morning routine or for pleasantries.

In fact, ever since quitting his job at the café with the horrible owner, Merlin had been double-timing as a delivery boy for Pizza Express and as a night guard at a Printemps store. He got paid weekly for both and regularly received tips from the Pizza Express customers. 

Since Merlin smiled a lot the tips were generous. But still not enough to place him on that plane. (Though they'd bought him the necessary Visas.)

Two more weeks Merlin said, two more weeks and they'd go. 

For today the only place Merlin would get to was the Boulevard Kellerman Pizza Express.

Arthur fed Merlin breakfast, helped him with the Pizza Express be-logoed baseball cap, and saw him timely to the door.

He got a quick kiss on the cheek in thanks that got him going like the Duracell bunny all day.

Life went on like that. Merlin going to work everyday, his shifts killer shifts that made him prostrate with fatigue once he was off them, Arthur waiting for him in the room they'd sublet from Florence's friend. 

For the most part Arthur had tried to make the place comfortable, buying small items, like a potted plant or stupid ornaments, to make the place more habitable.

He'd partly triumphed for Merlin grinned each time he saw a new item. Brightening Merlin's day was definitely worth the tiny expense and the hours spent shopping.

During the morning Arthur roamed Paris. Having nothing to do in the way of a professional pursuit, he had plenty of time to see to things like decorating. 

When he wasn't doing any Merlin-geared shopping, he usually hunted for take-away food – when Merlin was scheduled to get back home to share lunch with him. If Merlin was busy with work he had brunch alone at this or that place.

He generally went for quieter places that were at a distance from the busiest thoroughfares.

Arthur himself didn't need to find a job. Horribly privileged as that may sound, he had a fortune stashed by, the accumulation of the money he'd inherited from his mother and of his own earnings at Albion, and didn't need more.

With what he had he could live comfortably for two life times. For now he was content with waiting and seeing what life would bring.

It was a waiting game but it was all right.

Once Merlin had found his father, talked to him, Arthur thought they could go back to England. He might contact Elena and see if she'd take him back as a partner on their horse farm venture. 

If she did, everything might turn out all right. Merlin would like the horses. Arthur was sure. He'd teach him how to ride and how to rear the creatures. He'd make a connoisseur of him. (In his rosiest dreams Merlin figured out he wanted to be with him and nobody but him. Possibly forever.) And business would finally be something to look forward to instead of a chore.

In the meanwhile he was studiously avoiding Father and the injurious volley of texts coming from him. 

One day as he was lunching at a small café, he received one condemning him for what he'd done. 'Leaving everything behind like you have!' Father's words were harsh. “Shame on you,” the text went on. “No son of mine would behave like that.”

Arthur was fairly sure that text had exceeded the limits imposed on such a means of communication but hadn't bothered to read on, going back to his main display screen instead of scrolling down as he would have done in the past.

He turned his mobile face down and ordered ice-cream, sinking his spoon in a soft scoop tasting like fresh raspberries as soon as it arrived. He must have been grinning like a fool at the taste and the decision made regarding Father because the man occupying the table across from his, a bloke with bulging biceps that swelled the sleeves of his shirt, took to studying him closely.

Arthur wasn't bothered. He'd decided not to let himself be bothered by other people, not to care for their judgement as he had for too long a time. 

He waved at the man, finished his ice-cream while ignoring him, paid and left.

That night he got back to Merlin wearing the same smile he had had at the café.

“What's happened?” Merlin asked, ridding himself of his shirt and making Arthur witness of a strip tease that still turned Arthur on no matter what Arthur told himself about behaving like a friend. “You look... happy.”

“I've made all the right choices,” Arthur said and found it was the truth. For the first time in a long time he could breathe easily. “So, yeah, I'd say I am.”

Merlin's lips curved up and his eyes got a twinkle in them like Arthur hadn't seen in a while. Since he'd got the text about Balinor. “Then I'm happy too.”

“I thought you'd be happy once you made your plane reservations.”

Merlin sat on their little, chastely shared bed to get off his shoes. “I'll be delighted to. But one of the things that matters most to me is you being happy. You deserve to be.”

“You too,” Arthur said, going to sit beside Merlin. “You too.”

“Well, item one is there,” Merlin said, looking pointedly at him. “Item two will need a few more days. A few more tips.”

“I can contribute, you know, to make it happen quicker.”

Merlin pressed his palm against Arthur's cheek, cradling it, making Arthur choke on a breath, and touched his lips to Arthur's. 

For a heartbeat his eyes stared up into Arthur's, but then his lids fluttered down and he pressed the warmth of his mouth against his in a short kiss that was shallow, a touch wet, but that seared Arthur through and through. 

Instinctively, Arthur's mouth opened against Merlin's, but nothing more happened. They held it like that for a moment but the kiss didn't deepen. It was a bit shattering. Yet before pulling back Merlin had drawn a ragged breath out of him. “No need,” Merlin said. “Just thank you for being there.”

He flexed on his hips to dig his Pyjama bottoms from under his pillow, changed into them under Arthur's burning gaze, and went to sleep.

It took fifteen more days to realise Merlin's dream. That day Merlin came back from work, yelling for his battered laptop.

“Why?” Arthur asked, “what's up?”

“I have the money,” Merlin said, starting his computer. “I'm buying the tickets.”

Merlin went on line, pulled his debit card out of his wallet, and made the booking, saving the boarding passes in his documents folder. “It's in a few days time, I hope your passport is okay.”

“It is,” said Arthur, squeezing Merlin's shoulder. “You're going to meet your father.”

Merlin put a hand up on his stomach as if he wanted to quiet its somersaults while still staring blankly at the screen. “Yeah, but what if... what if he's already moved on?” His eyebrows twitched. “What if he doesn't believe I'm his son? What if he believes it and doesn't want it all the same.”

Pulling Merlin close by the neck, Arthur ruffled his hair, and let him lean his head against his own shoulder. “He'll want you. He can't not want you. Who wouldn't want such an amazing son?”

Merlin's lips quivered just as his body did. “Yeah, and all grown up too. Completely bypassing the changing nappies part.”

Arthur laughed but was conscious of the fact that his attempt at relieving Merlin of his tension was falling flat.

A few days later Arthur and Merlin were all packed up ready to go, crowding the airport halls. 

As they queued at the baggage drop off point, Merlin kept alternately bouncing on the soles of his feet, biting around the edges of the vinyl wallets containing their tickets, and fussing with the zip of his hoodie.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, “will you stop! It's going to be all right.”

Merlin flashed him an annoyed look but did stop fidgeting. For a few seconds. Then he whipped out his mobile, saying, “I'd better ring Phan Sinh Bingh. So he'll know when to pick us up. He's been so nice to agree to and I don't want to make him wait.”

As Merlin made his call and held their place in the queue, Arthur wandered off to buy a few newspapers to read on the long flight. He carefully avoided all financial broadsheets -- had since he'd found his sudden disappearance mentioned in one – and bought a mix and match of English and French press.

As he made his way to the till he was surprised by a headline he hadn't expected.

> CHILEAN EMBASSY IN HANOI BOMBED BY INTERNATIONAL TERRORISTS BLACKMAILING GOVERNMENTS FOR MONEY. 
> 
> … more on page three.

Arthur went to page three.

> A terrorist cell known as Supreme Warriors – a motley organisation based in various western and Asian countries -- is drawing more than a little attention from the press these days. 
> 
> The SW outfit has offices scattered all over the globe to raise money to overthrow governments that won't support their right to be recognised as a supranational institution with a right to interfere with various governments' policies. 
> 
> According to research by the UN and INTERPOL, the SW "consists of former soldiers from different backgrounds living in the US, Europe and South-east Asia. 
> 
> The group has created training camps the world over, some of which may be found over Vietnam's Laotian border, some in Eastern Europe, as well as in North America. It has some thousands of supporters and a florid budget of about $2 million a year.
> 
> Over the past few months though the group has moved from threats to actions. SW is "suspected of a dozen attacks on targets in Europe and America. 
> 
> Their latest effort has culminated in tragedy. After their involvement in a failed attempt to blow up the central bank in Bangkok with two bombs, they succeeded in detonating a rucksack filled with explosives outside the Chilean Embassy in Hanoi. The bomb exploded at a busy hour, killing 13 people and injuring over 150 others...

With a sigh at the loss of life, Arthur folded the newspaper back into its original shape and lifted his head.

As he did, he noticed a man remarkably similar to the gym aficionado he'd seen at the café in Paris -- when he'd had his ice-cream -- watching him. 

When he saw Arthur looking the man ducked into a different aisle until he was hidden by a rack of display shelves.

Arthur dismissed the idea he'd seen that person before, mostly because the odds he had were minimal and he wasn't sure this guy could possibly be the same as the one from Paris. 

The guy from central Paris -- whose face he couldn't wholly remember -- could have been different given how well he could recall his features. Only height and body shape were the same. The two men's muscle mass must have led him to conclude they were one when they clearly weren't. And that just because such a physique was less than ordinary.

The guy who'd just vanished was likely merely trying to flirt, and not the man from Paris.

Arthur shook his head and moved on. It didn't matter. He had other things to think about.

He paid for his purchases and quickly showed the headlines to Merlin. Merlin's head though was too far up in the clouds for a come back. “Yeah? Poor victims. It's always tough to read about things like that.”

Arthur tried to get Merlin's attention again. “Yeah but--”

Merlin said, “It's our turn for drop off,” and that was that. 

The flight from Charles de Gaulle was long.

Arthur slept some, ate his tray meal, walked up and down the aisle some, read the papers and worried about their contents, then started wandering the length of the plane again. 

When he got back to his seat it was to find Merlin a little white in the face, tapping his foot anxiously on the floor. 

Arthur scrambled over him to get to his seat, ordered him a glass of wine so he'd get knocked out for the rest of the flight, and spent the time intervening between then and the alcohol having its effect telling him silly stories about his childhood.

When those didn't relax Merlin – Arthur's childhood wasn't exactly designed to soothe anyone – he switched to horses.

By the time Merlin had had three glassfuls of wines and an earful about Arthur's first mount, he nodded off, head lolling against the seat.

They landed in the early morning and were picked up by Phan Sinh Bingh, Gaius' contact. 

Bingh was man in his thirties who was just a little shorter than Arthur and nearly as lanky as Merlin. The introductions were quick because Bingh said they still had a bit of a journey ahead. “Six hours at least. We can talk on the move.” 

Bingh led them past Arrivals, through the parking space, and to his vehicle. He had a people carrier that looked spacious and comfortable and in which he stashed their luggage. 

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Bingh said. 

Merlin took the passenger seat next to Bingh while Arthur climbed in the back.

As they drove away from Hanoi and northwards towards Cao Bang, the views changed around them, becoming more rugged and mountainous the more they advanced. 

The temperatures dropped accordingly and Arthur wrapped himself up in his jacket and found himself wishing for a scarf.

As they left the super-motorways and then Route Three, they started passing roadside villages, the roads lined with people making their way to the traditional markets.

Arthur watched them as they wound their way up the road, carrying their wares, while they pushed towards higher ground, Bingh's carrier speeding past them.

They climbed higher still, the roads getting rougher as they progressed. “This is a more rural area,” Bingh explained. “So the roads are a bit worse off.”

“I'm sure we can take it,” said Arthur, who'd experienced no real discomfort. A few potholes were nothing to be upset about and the people's carrier's traction was very good. He was more worried about how tense Merlin had grown during the drive. 

He'd fallen silent, leaning his head against the passenger window and drawing little shapes in the condensation while Bingh drove and Arthur took stock of the landscape.

Arthur tried not to draw attention to Merlin's silence so he engaged Bingh himself, who passed on pretty useful information regarding their stay.

Bingh was a nice man and Arthur found himself enjoying their conversation, which touched upon different subjects, verging from titbits of knowledge upon the local countryside, cuisine, and the work Bingh did for both the Christian mission and the Buddhist monks he was friends with.

At last they took a side road, one that brought them around a magnificent lake, and then a track that, Bingh promised, would get them to their destination more quickly.

Out of the blue Merlin asked, “Is Balinor still there?”

Bingh said, “Until two days ago he was still there and up till then he hadn't been banking on moving on any time soon.”

Merlin lost some of the tension that had racked him since before he'd boarded the flight to Hanoi. “How come he's come?”

Bingh lifted a shoulder. “He's friends with the new head missionary, Father Nguyen. The old one, Brother Aeredian, got the mission in a bad place with his attempts at evangelising. The state didn't take kindly to him – quite naturally with the majority of the population being Buddhist. 

It wanted to shut the place down and seize the land attached to the mission, but then Father Nguyen replaced Brother Aeredian and put everything to rights.” 

Bingh changed gears, smoothing into third. “With the change in leadership the situation has improved and the mission's relationship with the government is no longer strained. The missionaries are now concentrating on helping build a dam and providing health counselling.” 

Bingh pushed the people carrier onto a side road. “That's what Balinor's currently doing by the way.”

“Is he doing any good?” Merlin asked thoughtfully. “Or is his unwanted help, the patronising kind?”

Bingh braked a little more abruptly then necessary. “Balinor is a good man. He's doing good. No matter his faith, which is not mine, he's doing good.”

Merlin smiled a pale smile, tears in his eyes. “Then I'm glad.”

Bingh shot Merlin a perplexed look though he turned his attention back to the road quickly enough. He might well have wondered at Merlin's words. If you didn't know why Merlin was so keen about gathering info on Balinor, his questions and reactions might come across as strange. 

The drive finished in silence. Bingh got them to the mission and showed them to Father Nguyen's office, saying, “I left your luggage with one of the brothers. Got to go transport a mother and kid back to Hanoi now but tell me when you need me to get you back to the airport and I'll make time for you.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said, clapping Bingh's shoulder. “Thank you so much. I'll let you know as soon as I can.”

Arthur hid a wince. He and Merlin both knew that how long they stayed depended on how Balinor took the news. Bingh didn't know that so he simply nodded his head. As he walked backwards to the people's carrier he made a 'phone me' sign and then drove off. 

Merlin knocked on the door to Father's Nguyen's office and an old voice answered them in Vietnamese. Neither Arthur nor Merlin spoke it, but they assumed that what had been said meant “Enter”. 

They pushed the door open and found an old man sitting behind a desk.

He was thin and stooped, almost frail, but welcomed them with a smile and the words, “You must be Brother Gaius' friends.”

Merlin and Arthur cautiously trod into the office and closed the door behind them. 

Now that they were closer to the desk they could see that it was cluttered with many books and documents, some of which were gathered in folders tied with a string. There was no trace of modern appliances whatsoever but for an old looking phone. A crucifix hung behind the desk and so did a few paintings clearly made by children.

Merlin said, “I hope we're not disturbing you.”

“You're not,” said Father Nguyen. “Not in the least. We've prepared lodgings for you. And there's food put by if you're hungry after your journey.” Father Nguyen rose to shake both Merlin and Arthur's hands. 

Despite the mountain cold Merlin was sweating and fidgeting again. “Thank you, but I think I... I think I want to see Balinor. I mean, if Arthur's tired he can go and rest. And you're being so very kind but--”

Father Nguyen patted Merlin's shoulder and shuffled to the door, “I understand. Gaius said it was important you get to meet our Balinor.” Father Nguyen looked to Arthur. 

Arthur said, “I'll stick it out with Merlin if that's no problem.”

Merlin flashed him a smile. Father Nguyen nodded benignly and doubled around him to get to the door. 

The mission was large but sprawling. There were lots of buildings here and there. Some of them lay one close to the other; others were scattered at its periphery. 

There was a central square with signs pointing to different places, a sports field, a nursery, an infirmary. It was bordered by more structures of various description.

A church building with a wooden bell tower loomed to the south, snow-capped mountains casting shadows over it.

Father Nguyen led them down an asphalt road and down a narrower lane, the track leading straight up to a ridge. Before it and tucked down a red-earth alley stood a two storey brick building that was a mix and match of western and eastern styles. 

“That's where Balinor lives,” Father Nguyen said. “He's in.”

So saying he retreated some to give Merlin and Arthur their space.

Arthur privately thought that the old man suspected something though he didn't tell Merlin in case the knowledge made him even more twitchy. But Father Nguyen's hands were joined as if in prayer, his head bowed though his eyes were still tracking Merlin, a give away of his kind-hearted interest in the proceedings.

Merlin was standing there, looking at the door to Balinor's lodgings out of large eyes that were almost all pupil. He appeared petrified. As if that was not enough he kept shifting his weight from foot to foot, pulling on the jumper he'd put over his hoodie to protect him against the cold. Sometimes he would take a step forward but only to turn on his heels again, courage abandoning him so he was reverting to his initial position. 

Merlin did this more than a few times, Father Nguyen leaving them when he saw Merlin would fare better without too many witnesses, for which insight Arthur was grateful.

When Father Nguyen had been gone some full ten minutes, and Merlin had partaken of his doorstep dance a few more times, Merlin climbed the two steps to the door again, raised his fist and knocked.

A dark haired man wearing a ragged beard and casual clothes appeared on the doorstep. He looked rough, a little unkempt, and somewhat angry at being disturbed.

“Balinor Howell?” Merlin asked, voice cracking. 

The man looked Merlin up and down and barked a swift, “Yes, who are you?”

Arthur saw Merlin's Adam's apple plunge with a swallow. “My name is Merlin,” Merlin said, while Balinor frowned at him. 

“That doesn't help me, boy.”

“Yes, no, I suppose not,” Merlin said. He played with a lose thread coming off the stitching of his belt. “Um, I--”

Arthur's heart broke in two. Merlin's face had drained of all colour, he was a-tremble and probably driving gouges in his hands with his nails. 

Arthur wanted to go to him. Wanted to go take his hand and do something. He felt a sharp stab in his heart whenever Merlin stammered something that got him nowhere, Balinor still not getting what Merlin was doing there. 

Yet, however much Arthur wanted to facilitate Merlin and Balinor's rapprochement, he couldn't act. He had to refrain from taking this in his own hands because he knew this was between Merlin and Balinor. Arthur had nothing to do with it. This was strictly between father and son.

He could only pick up the pieces if everything went wrong.

“You're what, kid?” Balinor asked. “I've got to help Doctor Chu take a sick kid to hospital so I'd rather you said whatever you had to say and quickly too.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow; for a former Franciscan Balinor was less than suave.

Merlin turned his face away, shoulders drooping. “I'm,” he said. “I'm Hunith Emrys' son.”

Balinor's jaw fell open, a hiss left him, and he pulled Merlin inside his house. Arthur followed, not about to leave Merlin alone even if he wasn't to interfere with the impending revelation.

Since his companions weren't of a mind to pay attention to him right now, Arthur placed himself in a corner from where he could observe the action. 

Balinor pushed Merlin onto a ratty sofa and started pacing. “Is she well?” he asked. “Hunith, is she well?”

Merlin watched Balinor pace as if he could dig a hole in the floor by virtue of doing it. “She's okay,” Merlin said. “She's a tough one, my mum.”

Balinor stopped and Arthur was ready to swear he saw his lips quirk though he could only pick out his profile. “That she is,” he said. “I thought you'd come because she was ill and had asked for me.”

“No,” Merlin said. “She's in perfect health.”

Balinor rubbed his chin. “Then why have you come all this way?”

“You haven't asked how old I am,” Merlin said feebly. He was green now, as if he was queasy. His eyes did this odd dance, his gaze shifting from Balinor to the nearest object, their whites showing. For a moment there Merlin reminded Arthur of a spooked horse.

“Kid,” Balinor said, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple, “I'm in a hurry and too old for conundrums.”

“I'm twenty one,” Merlin said. “I was born in October.”

Balinor dropped his arms at his side and a strange light flashed in his eyes. 

Arthur was positive he was about to ask the right question, he was so poised for it, when they heard a gun shot.

 

**** 

 

Balinor rushed to the window, drawing the flimsy grey curtain back an inch or two. “Looks bad,” he said.

Arthur and Merlin hurried over to see with their own eyes. Two Jeeps chock full of men wearing camouflage gear were coming at full speed down the lane.

Shots were fired in the air. Arthur heard the squeal of tyres as the Jeeps' wheels failed to latch onto the dry ground. Frantic orders were shouted, loud like thunder.

As the vehicles drew nearer, Arthur could see that they were armoured, massive, fully equipped with the latest technology, the kind the military would use. 

He gaped at that. Who were the people aboard the Jeeps? What could they possibly be doing invading a mission in the middle of nowhere?

The Jeeps stopped one at each end of the lane, the men manning them pouring out of them and rushing towards each end of the street, covering them both with their semi automatics as pro soldiers would do.

The pounding of footsteps and the slamming of doors broke the afternoon quiet. An engine ignition was cut off; more men jumped down. 

Three of them marched down the alley, kicked a door in, and dragged a friar out by his arms, one of them jabbing him forward with his automatic rifle.

Balinor let the curtain fall back in place, making sure no movement was perceptible but the slightest fluttering. “This is not good,” Balinor said. “Those must be rogue troops. Government ones would never act like that. Ever.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Merlin, his voice steady and firm, no fear in it.

Balinor grunted. “They're storming the mission, it seems. Stay safe. Go upstairs and hide.”

Arthur nodded. He was no tactician but getting caught by dangerous types blazing guns didn't seem like a good idea. They could verify who they were later. Once they were out of the current scrape. They had to act prudently now. “Where should we hide?”

The house Balinor lived in was small, Arthur saw, and the hiding places couldn't be many, the more so given the sparseness of the furniture.

“There's an in wall-storage cabinet in the spare room upstairs,” said Balinor. “It looks like a mirror but can actually slide open. Climb inside it. You'll find a ladder there leading to a trapdoor that opens onto the roof. It was put there to help the tech get to the aerials, but it can save you now.”

Merlin reached out for Balinor with trembling fingers but dropped his hand. “What do you mean 'it can save you now'?” he asked. “What about you?”

Balinor frowned at the door and, hearing alarming noises coming from beyond it, he pushed Merlin away from the window, back into the living room and towards the stairs. “I'll hide in the kitchen. There's a place I can huddle into. Grocery storage. Now do as I tell you.”

Merlin dug his heels in. “No, come up with us. I'm sure it's safer.”

More noises were coming from outside in the shape of more gun shots and screams. They surely made them experience a new sense of urgency.

“No,” said Balinor. “Roof's too small. Three's too many for it. We'd be seen and then we'd be sitting ducks.”

“But--” Merlin said, a stubborn crease rippling across his forehead, “what's--”

“Just go!” Balinor shouted. “I'm your father, aren't I? Do as I say.”

Merlin's face face crumpled in an ugly way. Standing there, his eyes filling with tears, he looked stripped bare. “I--” he tried but it came out in a croak.

“Get him there,” Balinor told Arthur with a raw vehemence that would have been persuasive even if Arthur had been dead set against doing what Balinor wanted and pushing Merlin at him. “Before it's too late.”

Conscious of how reasonable the sentiment was, Arthur tried to shepherd Merlin up the stairs, but Merlin was putting up a rather dogged resistance, looking at his father over his shoulders.

“Go, boy,” Balinor barked. “Before they get in here. Or you'll have put us all in danger.”

Though his eyes widened with pain, that got Merlin moving. 

He and Arthur bolted up the stairs, took a sharp turn, ran along a tiny corridor and found two doors mirroring each other. One led to a spare but functional bedroom, the other to a room that looked more like a deposit than a place fit for occupation. Opposite the far wall was the mirror Balinor had told them about. 

Arthur herded a still hesitant Merlin into the room. Without looking around, he went to the mirror, placed his hand on it, and slid it sideways, revealing a half empty space, large enough for two people to crouch in but not wide enough for them to move in, let alone stand in.

A single light bulb dangled from the ceiling but Arthur could see it was burnt out. The trapdoor Balinor had talked about was round and metal, covered in cobwebs and evidently heavy.

“Okay,” Arthur said, appraising the space, “up we go.”

“Shouldn't we check on B--” Merlin stammered that letter out then continued, “--that my dad has found a hiding place first?”

Arthur turned round to focus on Merlin, who was standing a step behind as if he was subconsciously inching towards the door. “You heard what the man said. It would be stupidly dangerous.”

As if to confirm Arthur's words sharp cracking sounds wafted over to them, their echo ricocheting closer then before. There were whines like metal being torn apart, crashes like windows being blown in, and duller sounds like those of woodwork being smashed to pieces.

“Merlin,” Arthur said.

Merlin craned his head towards the sound, worrying his lower lip till he broke the skin in one spot. 

For a moment Arthur thought he would dart downstairs but then Merlin shook all hesitation off and crossed the room over to him. He made a cradle of his hands and helped Arthur climb into the storage cabinet. Once Arthur was in he settled on his knees, leant out and reached an arm out to help Merlin in. 

With Merlin settled in front of him, Arthur slid the mirror panel back in place. 

They were now enclosed in a small and dark place, unable to see past their noses, their laboured breathing marking the time passing. 

For a short spell they were wrapped in a hush, as if the world outside was far, far away or they had landed on a deserted island. But the quiet broke and brought with it nightmare sounds. 

They heard a much closer and more ominous noise, as of a door being kicked open and a voice shouting something in a clipped, furious tone that made Arthur almost sick he was recoiling at it so hard. 

To stave it all off, Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin and held him tight, his chin on Merlin's shoulder, his grip hard but shaky, the noises getting to him in a way that he wouldn't have understood but a moment before. 

The not seeing where they were stemming from filling him with more dread than he would have thought possible seeing as he was being spared any terrible sight.

“They're downstairs,” Merlin said in hushed tones.

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed, his heartbeat accelerating, his hands clumsy as he let go of Merlin to fumble for his mobile. “Crap, no signal. What about you?”

Merlin fished in his pockets, looking for his own phone. He checked its screen. “Nothing. Won't be able to call for help until we get some place where there's better reception.”

Arthur doubted Merlin's old model phone would start working here, so far away from Europe, but they had a chance his would do the job. Though it was as useless as any other piece of old rubbish right about now. 

Although, if they got out of this cramped place with no signal, there was still something he could do with it.

In the interim Arthur would use his mobile as a torch, shining its display light upwards. “Can you see the trapdoor latch?” he asked Merlin.

Merlin shifted up against the compartment's side wall and tilted his head up, his chin thrown in relief by the half light cast by Arthur's mobile. 

“Yeah,” Merlin whispered. Sitting on his knees, he reached up with his hands, pushing on his toes and fumbling with the latch.

“Got it?” Arthur asked out of a very dry mouth. 

“Not yet,” Merlin mumbled. He was still tinkering with the latch, cursing under his breath, wiping his hands on his jeans and then trying again. “This thing hasn't been opened in a while.”

Arthur cursed inwardly.

Just as Merlin managed to pull the trapdoor open, a sliver of natural light seeping through, they heard one ominous crash from downstairs, a volley from a semi-automatic, and the words: “No need to search. There's only me in here. I'm a Franciscan with no family.”

That had been Balinor's voice.

“He's going to give himself up for us,” Merlin said.

Arthur resisted the temptation to punch the wall. “You can't help him now, Merlin,” he said. 

Not that Merlin would listen to him, for he stubbornly slid the mirror door open and hopped down and back into the room.

Arthur swore under his breath and jumped after him, grabbing him by the shoulder and pushing him against the wall opposite before he could get to the door.

“Think,” he gritted out, angry, appalled at the idea of what might happen if those people downstairs got their hands on Merlin. “Think, Merlin, think. We can't help your dad if we're caught.”

Merlin was stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes, a tooth sunk in his lower lip and drawing more blood out of the tiny scratch that was already there. “I need to help him. He's my dad. He's in danger,” Merlin said under his breath.

Arthur shook Merlin by the shoulders. “Yes, and how can we get him out of it? Certainly not by walking into danger ourselves. We need to be cautious. Plan ahead.”

“Arthur, this isn't a quarterly revenue growth analysis; there's no time to think of a plan now.”

“No, it's not business, you're right,” Arthur hissed his agreement. “But you setting off half cocked on a rescue mission is only going to put your father in more danger than he is.”

Arthur hadn't persuaded Merlin; he could read it in his narrow eyes and stiff body language. Merlin would do what he wanted to do, what he felt he needed to do, and damn the consequences. As he'd always done.

He would have rushed in where the angels feared to tread even now if they hadn't both heard footsteps slowly making their way up to the second floor. 

These were thumping footsteps made by someone wearing heavy shoes, a measured sound that continued down the hall and grew momentarily fainter. 

It brought home to them just how deep in shit they were – unarmed, very likely outnumbered, threat close – and changed Merlin's attitude. His eyes widened as did Arthur's. 

Crap, there was so little they could do.

Whoever was out there was stopping at the end of the hall. The door to the room they were in wasn't completely shut to, so they could see a shadow playing in the corridor outside, narrowing to a thin stripe as the person it belonged to moved. 

Arthur put his hand on Merlin's mouth and measured his own breath.

The intruder lingered just long enough for them to be able to spy his muddied combat boots and motley of a camouflage uniform, his shape outlined against the light from downstairs, then he advanced. 

Arthur's pulse raced. There was nothing for it. They had to get back to their hiding place and sneak onto the roof. It was vital they get there, as Balinor had said. Yet they couldn't do it as long as the intruder was so close. 

With Merlin pressed flat against the door, Arthur's body pushed up against Merlin, they waited, hidden by the partition wall.

And they waited some more, making no noise, sweat running down Arthur's face, Merlin closing his eyes. Time seemed to stand still. The intruder moved. Panic rose in Arthur's throat. He listened closely. 

The sound of footsteps was dwindling away.

Arthur whispered, “Back where we came from,” and Merlin nodded. They crept back to the storage space and slid the mirror an inch to the right. It produced a whoosh of air as it shifted and they stalled a second or two, thinking they would be discovered. 

But the intruder didn't come back. He was most likely downstairs again, or so the sounds coming from down there seemed to suggest. 

Encouraged by this notion, they climbed back into the aperture, closed the panel behind them and hurried to lift up the trapdoor.

By getting on his shoulder Merlin managed to climb through it, then he turned around and heaved Arthur up. 

Arthur could see his tendons straining, and tried to help him by way of bracing his knees against the walls. 

Merlin grunted, took a better hold of his forearm, and pulled Arthur towards him. 

Several bloody scratches later created by the friction against the rough wall surfaces, Arthur was out and on the roof too. Merlin was pawing his shoulder and grimacing at it. 

Lifting Arthur must have put a strain on his joints.

They couldn't dwell on these minor ailments though. They had to manage to stay hidden and call for help while they did so. Not an easy feat.

To avoid discovery they flattened themselves against the parapet wall, making sure they stayed low and were concealed by the chimney stack. 

Breathing heavily, Merlin said, “Check your mobile now.”

Arthur rifled his pocket and got it out. “Still out of range. How about yours?”

Merlin checked is. “Battery is low. There's also no signal.”

Arthur pushed himself up a bit to gaze over the parapet. His eyes searched this side of the alley and then ranged out further to scope out the mission. “Maybe if we get to that knoll there?”

Merlin peeked too. “Worth a try.”

They both knew they were in the middle of nowhere and that getting somewhere with mobile network coverage was their only chance of getting help. Otherwise they'd have to somehow manage to sneak out of the mission and back to civilisation, anywhere they might find a phone, and get in touch with someone who could see to this mess. Who could they contact though? Arthur wasn't sure. It very much depended on who these invading paramilitary types were.

Merlin seemed to read his mind. “So who do you think we're dealing with?”

Still hidden by the wall they hunkered down, Arthur poked his head out and said, “Coast's still clear. At my three let's get moving.”

They stealthily crawled down the alley, keeping close to the walls to be less visible. 

As they made towards the end of the narrow street, they saw a small garden, more of a cabbage patch really, and threw themselves over the knee-high hedge marking it. 

They'd scarcely ducked behind the hedge when they heard a girl scream. 

They had enough of a view through the hedge to see as the would-be SW men grabbed her and pulled her away, dragging her out of their view.

Arthur balled his fists and struggled forward. Merlin covered his hand and said low, “We can't help her either. We need to get outside help first if we want to save her. That was your plan, remember?”

Arthur was reasonable enough to see that, though doing nothing when a child was in danger galled him.

All the same, they helped each other over the hedge and to the other side. The stretch of road before them led back to the mission's main square and was far more open. So open, in fact, that they could easily be sighted. “We'll have to make a dash for it,” Arthur said.

The determined set of Merlin's jaw said he was ready to do it. 

Bent over, they ploughed straight across the street, looking for cover. At first there was none, but when they zeroed in on another little side alley that would afford them more protection from view, they started sprinting towards it. 

They couldn't keep up that speed for long and the stretch of ground between them and relative safety was longer than Arthur had thought at first.

They couldn't cover it while pushing their limbs the way they were now.

Winded, they slowed to a lope. That was when a blow from the butt of a rifle dropped Arthur onto his knees. 

Pain flared low in his back, his hands got scraped in breaking the fall, but what made him yell was not that. The physical sensation was mild compared to the horror of what he was seeing.

Merlin had stopped running, had whirled round and was now making his way back to him.

Before Merlin could make it all the way though he was stopped by two Camo Men. 

One got him by the arm while the other grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him round and hitting him with the butt of his rifle. The sounds coming out of Merlin's mouth were rough as though filtered by sandpaper. 

As Arthur shouted for them to let Merlin go, one of the men holding Merlin kicked him as a signal to move on. 

Arthur too was marched forwards, though he got no kick himself.

They were led back to the square where all the mission's occupants had been herded together. They were sitting in a circle, the attackers holding them at gun point.

Among the prisoners was Balinor and the girl who'd been captured before, both a little worse for wear but unscathed. 

When Merlin saw his father, he started towards him, but was stopped by the look Arthur sent him. They didn't need to supply the mission's attackers with more info about them than they already possessed.

A father-son relationship was the kind of ammunition they mustn’t give them.

Still under threat of being fired upon, Arthur and Merlin were made to sit next to a group of kids, hostages just like them. Merlin sent them a reassuring smile before settling down, cradling his middle, and hiding a wince from them. 

The action made Arthur think Merlin had been hurt more significantly than Arthur had thought he'd been. Maybe he'd cracked a rib. 

Needing to offer as much support as he could, Arthur sidled closer to him, not so much so that their captors could see and guess at what was between them, but enough so that his thigh touched Merlin's in places. 

Merlin bowed his head and flashed him a knowing look from under his lashes. Arthur almost smirked, incongruously pleased, but something took his attention away.

Two of the men in camo outfits carried a massive satellite phone with big aerials to the centre of the square. 

It was high tech but also clearly being powered by one of the Jeeps' batteries. 

When the phone was set, they made space for a third man, a big hulking individual with a shaved head and a scar that cut across his forehead and his beak of a nose. This man strutted up to the device like a cocky bird and asked in a tone of command, “Is it operative?” 

His accent was American, defining him as part of a group that had reaches all over the world, unlike that of the man who answered his question, which sounded Eastern European. “Yes, sir,” the man said. “We're using low-earth orbit satellites to relay signals from this to the nearest GSM land-based service.”

“Perfect,” the man, who was evidently the leader, said. “Place the call.”

The man's subordinate powered up the phone and the leader started speaking, “This is the Griffin speaking, SW's General in Command.”

It was clear to Arthur that the pause that followed was intended for the person on the other end of the line to either record the conversation or pass it on to someone more senior. 

When this was done, the so-called General in Command started speaking again. 

“My troops and I have occupied the Cao Bang Christian Mission. We have a total of--” The General cradled the receiver against his chest and questioned his subordinate about the number of prisoners they'd collected while storming the place. “234 people. 80 among priests and friars, 124 locals, 40 of whom are children, and thirty other civilians. Our request is simple.” 

The 'General' spat on the ground before speaking again. 

“We want ten million dollars and media coverage for our requests, advertising our aims, before we release the hostages. Don't think about storming the mission. We have moved the prisoners to a location we won't disclose until you hand over the money to a member of our group you'll find at the co-ordinates we'll send you. After receipt you'll have ten hours to deliver. 

If you don't we'll start killing a hostage every hour. I suggest you meet our requests. If you don't, or won't, you'll have to deal with raking up the victims of your own behaviour. You'll have to face a world that thinks you condemned 234 people to die because they belong to a minority religious group in your country.” 

Arthur found the smirk on the 'General's lips to be disgusting, even when it morphed to something a little more matter of fact the moment the man started talking into the receiver again. “Think of how the Western would react to that. Assess the consequences.” 

The General was crowing, but even so he wasn't done. He passed the phone to one of his recruits, a local, judging by the way his Vietnamese rattled off his tongue. 

Arthur didn't understand what was being said but he was fairly sure all the same that it was a translation of the General's ultimatum. 

Only when this final version of the message was relayed did the call end. 

Arthur caught Merlin's eyes, then Balinor's from across the circle they were sitting around. 

This was particularly bad. The group seemed to have come prepared, with a plan and scripted threats. 

Going by the way the men under the General's orders acted, Arthur had no doubt as to who they were. How many paramilitary organisations formed by men from all over the world could be roaming North Vietnam? 

Arthur reckoned not many. Besides the group had recently attacked an embassy. This seemed to be their kind of scenario or rather an extension of that.

They most definitely hadn't lied about being SW. They were the real thing. It all matched.

Merlin nodded his head at him as if to tell him that he agreed with him even though he couldn't have exactly known what it was that Arthur was thinking about. Still, Arthur supposed, it was easily guessed.

At the end of the day it seemed that their future was in the hands of the SW. It wasn't even certain they'd be safe if the Vietnamese government bent to blackmail.

Well, if they'd asked him this morning he wouldn't have thought that by evening he'd be brushing hands with death.

At the thought Arthur closed his eyes but strangely enough didn't feel afraid. 

Maybe because nothing was happening and things had, in a manner of speaking, calmed down.

They were prisoners, true, and an alarming number of semi-automatic weapons was being aimed at them, but no more violence was being thrown at them either. They were at an impasse and the situation had an odd 'phony war' feel to it.

It had normalised.

The hostages were huddling together in groups, most of them looking shaken, pressed as far back as possible, one against the other, as if to occupy the least space possible and to avoid any occasional contact with the SW fanatics.

Yet, as they tried to cope with the new odds, they calmed a little.

After an hour or so of tense silence they were finally allowed to exchange words one with one another. Or at least they weren't being actively stopped from interacting with one another.

Not that Arthur could figure out what a strange move might be. The prisoners were more in number than the SW men but the SW men had the upper hand thanks to the weapons they were wielding.

Besides which, they had the strategic high ground, having rounded up their prisoners where they could easily be watched. Reaction was impossible lest they be mowed down by the SW's fire power. What could a group of missionaries, children and men who like Arthur and Merlin, had never been trained to face such a situation do? The answer was: precious little.

It didn't look good and the situation deteriorated as the weather worsened.

It started raining. The bushes that coasted the square swayed in the wind and their damp clothes whipped at their skin, freezing them. The ground got to mud from underneath them, pooling into their shoes and winding up everywhere, making movement highly uncomfortable. 

Squinting against the lashing of the thunderstorm, Arthur turned to Merlin. The rain having soaked their clothes to their skin, Merlin was shivering, his teeth were chattering in a fair imitation of the tapping of Morse code, and he was still holding his ribs as though they hurt.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asked Merlin.

Merlin didn't stop shivering but lied through his teeth in spite of the obvious tremors. “I'm fine. Right as rain.”

Arthur didn't believe him one bit. Merlin's skin had such a pale cast he looked positively sickly. 

“You're trembling,” Arthur said low, pushing the sole of his shoe against the sole of Merlin's trainer.

Merlin gave him a pale smile. “It's the rain. It's... intense.”

It was true; it was hammering down on their bodies, heavy and thick, water flowing down them and into their shoes. 

The temperature was going further down, and Arthur was sure that Merlin, already injured as he was, couldn't take it for much longer. There was but one solution.

Not even needing to think about it for more than a moment, Arthur shed his sodden jacket and shoved it at Merlin.

“You can't,” said Merlin. “You’ll freeze.”

Arthur couldn't believe Merlin. “You're the one who's freezing. Go on, put it on.”

“No!” Merlin's voice rose in spite of the number of unfriendly witnesses they had. “I have two layers on. I'm okay. I won't leave you in shirt-sleeves.”

“You're an idiot,” Arthur exclaimed, louder than he should have given the circumstances. He wanted Merlin to be okay. Or okay in so far as the circumstances permitted. “You're an absolute idiot. Do as I say. You'll need your strength.”

“Why? Merlin questioned. “So I can be a nicer corpse?” 

Merlin burst out laughing then, a short loud crack, and after having experienced a flare of anger so did Arthur. 

They looked each other in the eye and just continued laughing, too involved in their own joke, in the absurdity of all this, to stop. Arthur's initial anger seemed to have been replaced by something more feverish that let him release his pent up energy this way.

Their clamouring laughter got the attention of one of their captors though, who turned to train his automatic on them. 

They still couldn't stop hiccupping with laughter but the man didn't seem to want to shoot them. Arthur reckoned it was too early yet. They had a plan that didn't involve shooting their prisoners on sight until it was tactically needed. 

One of the mission's boys used the commotion he and Merlin had given rise as a diversion however.

The boy – a lean older teen with a body built for sprinting – dashed off at a run towards the row of buildings that lined the opposite area of the square.

He must have thought the SW members wouldn't pay too much attention to his flight if they were busy threatening Arthur and Merlin and banked everything on that.

His gamble proved wrong. The SW recruit who had been training his weapon on Merlin and Arthur whirred round and shot the boy, who went down in a heap. At first Arthur thought the boy dead. He'd had fallen in a loose limbed sprawl that was painful to see and that spoke of loss of life. It made Arthur's stomach lurch. But then the boy twitched, stirred, his hand moving to cover a wound that was on his leg.

Arthur let out a sough of breath. The boy hadn't lost his life but the way he'd gone down, the fact that it had happened at all, made real fear start to claw at Arthur. 

But just as the thought enveloped him with hopelessness, something distracted him from its hold over him.

He noticed a glint off a window, as though someone had rapidly closed it. 

It might have been his imagination, and it most probably was since the SW soldiers had forced all the mission's inhabitants in the main square in a way that ensured than no one could have got away, but still the idea that someone may have managed to hide gave him some hope. 

It helped him fight down the panic that had threatened to rise within him after he'd witnessed the act of violence performed on the boy.

Not having noticed the widow thing, Merlin briefly put his hand on Arthur's knee as if to comfort him over the boy. Arthur almost wanted to tell him about what he'd seen but stopped short, thinking it best kept to himself.

If someone had managed to break free Arthur didn't want to give their position away. If Arthur had hallucinated, then he didn't want to give Merlin any false hopes.

As Arthur pondered the question, the wounded boy was carried back into the square. Gritting his teeth and grunting at the pain, he was pushed to sit propped against one of the SW's vehicles, a reminder of what would happen were the prisoners to stray.

Not that they would otherwise have forgotten the weapons trained on them.

Night fell, humid and cold. It got pitch-black. There was no sign of stars, clouds darkening the horizon, and it was still raining in sheets. 

To add insult to injury a swarm of tiny but hyper-active mosquitoes had come out to play and were ranging around their bodies, biting at any inch of bare skin when they weren't slapping them off.

Given the temporary status quo, Arthur often drifted off to follow his own thoughts. While he couldn't nod off – he kept snapping his head up at the smallest noise – he stopped paying attention to his surroundings. Stopped watching the SW men. Stopped looking for glimpses of the person – if such a one existed – that had been behind that windowpane reflection.

This way hours passed and the dead of night crept on.

Arthur kept as close to Merlin as he could, wanting to feel his presence, his relative warmth, sometimes jostling him. 

Merlin smiled at him every time he did, though Arthur could see that his heart wasn't in it. 

He was trembling too much, wringing his hands too conspicuously, sending worried glances Balinor's way every time he could do so without the SW men noticing.

As for Balinor, he cursed and bad mouthed the SW soldiers. The latter didn't seem to appreciate his cockiness and open hostility at all. As a way to shut him up they kicked Balinor in the side and tied his hands and feet. This had Merlin almost crawling over to him. Arthur had to be stop him, pulling him back so he wouldn't be the next one to suffer Balinor's fate. 

Which was better than what Arthur thought would be. But it still had Merlin worried sick if they way Merlin's throat worked as though he was fighting his instinct to puke was anything to go by.

“You'll get to talk to him,” Arthur told Merlin sotto voce. 

Merlin flicked another surreptitious glance at his father. “If we get out of this alive.”

“We will,” Arthur said, though he wasn't that sure. He just thought that it'd be wrong of him to scare Merlin when there was a chance they could make it. “The government will ransom us.”

Arthur was treated to a cynical eyebrow raise. Merlin took in a big lungful of air and expanded on his fears. “I'm not naïve, Arthur. And... I'm sorry I got you into this. You have no idea how much. I think you deserve the world. And I led you to this.” 

Merlin eyed the square they'd been herded in and the SW men they were being threatened by. “But I want you to know that I'll do my best to get you out of this because I--” He sniffed instead of finishing that sentence. “...whatever it takes and if I can't then I'll happily--”

Merlin cut himself off when he saw the SW leader act. 

They helplessly watched as The 'General' stalked back to the centre of the square, one of the Jeeps headlights throwing him into stark relief against the darkness, and reviewed each of his hostages. 

The 'General' stopped before one of the younger priests who was sitting cross-legged in the mud and made a hand gesture at one of his subordinates, ordering him to fetch the sat phone. 

Two SW men brought him the apparatus, put it down at his feet, handed him the receiver and connected him.

“Here's the Griffin,” the 'General' brayed into the handset. “Ten hours have passed. The money hasn't been delivered. As promised, we'll kill the first hostage.”

The message was relayed in Vietnamese by the Vietnamese member of SW. 

When there was no room for doubts as to the clarity of the threat, the 'General' hung up.

His subordinates took the phone away, stashed it back into the Jeep it had come from, and came trotting back. 

“I'm sorry, Father,” the 'General' told his prospective victim, “I believe we'll have to make an example of you.”

He made a gesture, like a real general ordering a charge, and one of his underlings lifted the priest from off the ground. 

Underling Number Two though didn't act quite as swiftly, not joining in.

The 'General' appeared ticked off at this, one of his eyebrows climbing up in irritation. “Why aren't you obeying orders, Keller?”

“I think we'd do better offing someone else, sir.”

The 'General''s mouth thinned. “And why do you think you have a say in this, Keller?”

“Because,” Keller hesitated, “because I think we should make more noise. So that our cause won't be forgotten. And to do that we need to make an example of someone important.”

The 'General' laughed an ugly distorted laugh. “I'm afraid a bunch of priests, seminarists and impoverished kids with their families is all we have.”

Keller shook his head no and stuttered, “N-n-not really, sir.”

The 'General' grabbed Keller by the collar of his uniform, nearly lifting him off his feet. “Spit it out or I'll make you join the priests' ranks so you can share their end.”

“I recognised one of our hostages, sir,” Keller said. “He's an important man. I say we begin with him.”

The 'General' frowned. “What the hell are you talking about, Keller?”

Keller nodded his head in Arthur's direction. “I saw him on a financial magazine quite recently. He's the son of a Brit tycoon. They thought him missing but here he is. He's Arthur Pendragon. I say we take him; that'll raise a louder buzz, sir.”

The 'General' let go of Keller and fastened calculating eyes on Arthur.

Fear tasted like blood and salt in Arthur's throat. It swelled and skittered through him, sending shivers down his back until it became utter panic. Sweat budded on his brow, a great emptiness filled him and he suddenly felt terribly cold.

Silence like thunderclap followed, then the 'General' crossed over to him, and took the gun from the holster at his hip.

He stared Arthur down and said, “Up.”

Arthur shot his chin out at the man. “I won't make it easy,” he said.

“I said up!”

Arthur was about to set his cramping legs into gear to face this with dignity when Merlin quickly sprang to his feet. He took two steps forward, causing the 'General' to aim at him out of pure reflex. His tone was dry, determined and demanding, when he said, “Take me instead.”

“Merlin!” Arthur said, trying to pull Merlin down by the tail of his hoodie, “are you mad. Get down. What the fuck! Merlin, stop this right now.”

Merlin cocked his head down at him. His jaw was sticking out and his lips pushed together, but there was a softness to his eyes that broke Arthur's heart because it was fully unleashed at him. 

There was a yearning in them and a spark of muted happiness too. There was tenderness in spades. Regret maybe. Arthur could see everything in them, all that he hadn't been able to see before because he'd been distracted by words and circumstances. 

Merlin gave him a tender smile, a glimmer of a smile, a smile as swift as a thought. Then Merlin gently whispered to him in a low, fond voice that rumbled through Arthur's entire body and made it shake with longing. “It's all right, Arthur.” Merlin's smile faded as he turned and told the General, “Take me instead of him.”

The General seemed to almost be moved to accept, as if Merlin's defiance had enraged him.

Arthur started shouting, mad, incoherent words, that would surely make no sense to anyone. He was joined in the chorus by Balinor, who screamed his lungs off as he fought his bonds.

The recruit that had ratted Arthur out gripped Merlin by the shoulder to take him to his place of execution.

Arthur was on his feet to stop that, wanting to put himself between Merlin and danger if it that was all it took to save Merlin. He'd do anything to stop Merlin from dying, from having to watch the light go out of his eyes. Anything, crippling cramps going through him or not.

Then a shot resounded and the recruit was down, drowning in his own blood.

Gun shots rained over the mission. 

Eyes flaring with realisation, Merlin, who was now free, rushed Arthur, causing him to topple face first in the mud, his body shielding Arthur's, his fingers in his hair, tugging on it so Arthur'd keep his head down.

Because no, this was wrong, what was Merlin thinking? He could die if he kept this up. He could die, the idiot, and what would Arthur do then?

Arthur gargled something to that effect, mouth full of mud, but his efforts waned when he heard Balinor yell, “It's the Vietnamese Army.”

**** 

What happened next was a blur for Arthur. The first round of firing continued for more than half an hour, Arthur and Merlin keeping their heads down so as not to be caught in the exchange. 

Then there was a lull, during which the SW forces tried to reorganise themselves, but failed to regroup. 

At last the army established a security clampdown, surrounding the mission and blocking all entry and exit points. Helicopters, whose rotors deafened Arthur, started patrolling the skies, snipers taking out the most determined of the terrorists. 

At last detachments of the Vietnamese Army made quick work of the SW soldiers. 

Most of the SW members ended up being captured, their leader secured, whilst some of their recruits fell, treated as cannon fodder by their superiors.

The police helped the army seal off the area, ensured ambulances were on call, and looked after the hostages.

As hostages themselves, Merlin and Arthur were checked up on by a group of paramedics that had been called in after the mission had been secured. 

They'd been allowed to clean themselves up first, having been granted the use of towels and a water pump. 

Arthur's hands were bandaged and his back was checked. Apart from a bruise, he'd emerged out of this unscathed.

Merlin too was told to strip so that his ribs could be looked at. 

Reluctantly, Merlin sat on the ambulance step, his back to the interior of the vehicle as he was probed and poked.

“I think your sixth rib may be cracked,” the paramedic said. “You might want the hospital to give you a scan.”

“I'm sure nothing's broken,” Merlin said. To his credit Arthur didn't think he was lying as he had about not being in pain. “I'd rather have a good night's--” He cast his eyes up at the sky. “-- morning sleep than hurry over to the hospital. If I feel bad when I wake up I'll get my chest x-rayed, no worries.” He exhaled. “Though right now all I want to do is unwind a little.”

The paramedic seemed moved by Merlin's words and incredibly weary expression. 

Arthur wasn't too happy with that though, “Merlin, I think you should listen to the pros here.”

Merlin took his hand. “Right now I just want to get to talk to my dad,” Merlin said. 

“I get that you want to,” Arthur said. “But it can wait.”

“I don't think anything in life can wait,” Merlin said. “As we've learned today.”

“It's all past now, Merlin.”

Merlin smiled up at him. “I know. But there's another reason for me staying rather than going. I want to have a word with you too. About perspective and stuff.”

The warmth in Merlin's eyes was a powerful thing and his lovely smile was quite persuasive as well. 

“All right then,” Arthur said. “But I'm getting you to the nearest hospital at the first hint of trouble.”

Merlin let go of his hand though he brushed their fingers together before doing so. “I have no objections to that. I just need to say a few things to my father.” Merlin's grin got infectious at that. “I never thought I'd say that. My dad. But anyway after that I'm going to get back to you and we'll... I hope you'll be okay with listening to what I have to say.” Merlin hopped off the ambulance step. “'Cause there's a lot of that coming.”

Arthur couldn't wait, but only said, “I'll be up waiting for you.” He held his head high as he said that only to bow it when he felt Merlin's study of him might burn him to the quick.

Merlin nodded, heaved himself up, and toddled off to go look for his father. Arthur watched him go and wished him a silent 'good luck'.

Before moving on to the next patient the paramedic gave Arthur an icepack to apply to his back in case of pain and a blister of anti-inflammatory drugs for Merlin. “Just take him to Hanoi if he has problems breathing.”

Arthur nodded dutifully and watched as the paramedic packed up his equipment and moved on to the next person needing him.

Arthur was about to direct his steps to the lodgings he's been assigned before the SW catastrophe took place when someone called out to him. “Mr Pendragon, Mr Pendragon, please wait a moment!”

Arthur stopped short, and slowly turned around to be faced with the same man he'd seen at the Charles de Gaulle newsagent's. Same face, same unmistakable bulk, same clothes even. 

“What the hell!” Arthur said, honestly taken aback. Maybe the day had taken his toll on him but this made absolutely no sense to him. He couldn't understand what the man could possibly be doing here. He'd left him behind in Paris, he was sure.

“Mr Pendragon,” the man continued as he jogged up to him and finally got caught up. “Hello, glad to see you're fine. For a moment there I thought I wouldn't make it in time.”

Arthur couldn't help his open-mouthed expression of confusion. “I'm sorry, I'm not sure I follow.”

The man tapped his temple in a 'silly me' gesture. “Oh, sorry, you don't know the first thing about me.”

Arthur lifted his eyebrow.

“I'm Percival Knight,” said the man. “I'm a PI. Your father hired me to find you.”

Arthur couldn't quite believe his ears; his head spun for a moment. “I'm sorry, you mean to say that you've been following me ever since Paris?”

The man shook his head no. “From before, actually.”

Arthur pressed fingers to his head. “Sorry, I've had an exhausting day and you'll have to spell it out. You can explain it in my lodgings.”

They walked back to them, the big man adapting his long lumbering stride to Arthur's. 

To his satisfaction (stairs looking like a nightmare now) Arthur found that he and Merlin had been put up in a bungalow. 

The door had been torn off its hinges by the SW people and the window was crashed, jagged chunks of glass hanging from the frame by a thread. 

Shards of wood were sprinkled over what had once been the threshold and mud caked the entrance, but the place looked otherwise habitable. Especially once you'd stepped past the doorway; the SW hadn't made it far inside. 

There were three rooms that Arthur could see, two single bedrooms, and a tiny anteroom with a kitchenette.

Arthur shed his jacket, had a quick second wash in the bathroom and then wearily stomped back to the anteroom he'd left his father's employee to stew in.

Not knowing the protocol for dealing with PIs your father had sicced on you, Arthur made Percival some tea and sat down with him, a bracing cup of the brew placed in front of him. 

Once they were more comfortable, Percival started explaining what he'd only hinted at before. “When you went AWOL, your father contacted me to find you and--”

“Bring me back,” Arthur guessed. If someone had told him this just yesterday, Arthur would have been mightily pissed off. He'd have yelled. He'd have surely reacted.. After all that had happened today he couldn't muster the appropriate level of indignation necessary to work himself up into a rage. “I should have known.”

“Yes,” said Percival. “He was adamant. He wanted me to locate you, find out what had pushed you to act the way you had and bring you back willing or no.”

“I see,” said Arthur tightly. He took a sip of tea, though a stimulant was perhaps the wrong kind of drink if he wanted to keep Zen about this. He reminded himself he might have died today and clung to the peace of mind that the happy resolution of his ordeal had prompted in him. “So you've been following me since when?”

“Well, let's say that I have a friend who works for the airline you used and that helped me trace you to the Alpes Maritimes.”

“But that's illegal!” Arthur said. Passenger lists were confidential for God's sake! “A complete breach of the law.”

“Yeah,” said Percival, “but as I see it you should thank my friend or I'd never have been able to follow you here, find out what was going on and alert the authorities who saved you.”

Arthur winced but had to drink to that. If this man was the one who'd got the army on the SW's collective arses he wouldn't be alive now. Or Merlin wouldn't. “I do thank you for that. I... I didn't know it was you who saved us.” Arthur put his mug down, still more than a little confused. Percival having rescued them didn't clear up the dynamics of what had happened after Arthur had left London. “But if you've been following me around since Nice, why haven't you contacted me before?”

“At first I simply had a hard time pinning you to a place where I could talk to you in private,” said Percival, “and when a couple of days later you got into Paris I understood why you'd done a runner.”

“You know about Merlin,” Arthur concluded, lips settling into a grim line.

“Yes. ” Percival drank from his own cup. “I'm a PI and it was impossible not to find out about him once you started cohabiting in Paris.”

 

Arthur didn't bother correcting Percival about the nature of his and Merlin's cohabitation. He didn't tell him they hadn't been a couple at that point in time but had once been. “I seen.”

 

“And then I knew you wouldn't be keen to listen to what I had to say,” Percival said.

“Are you telling me he's the reason you haven't approached me before is because you wanted to let me enjoy my privacy with Merlin?”

Percival snapped out of his comfortable position. “I'm not sure I like your tone, Mr Pendragon. I'm not the bad guy here,” he said. “I was doing what I'd been paid to do.” Percival's voice wavered. “I admit that I didn't come up to you right then because I had a plan. I thought you were too deep in the honeymoon phase of your relationship for what I had to say to make an impression.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” Arthur asked, voice rough, a spike of anger colouring it.

“I thought you weren't likely to be persuaded to give up on your new life.”

The bitter purpose of Arthur's words seeped into his tone when he said, “And you think the situation has changed now?”

Percival gave him half a shrug. “After all you've been through... I just thought that perhaps the romance had lost some of its allure. That you might be ready to go back home now.”

Arthur fought to keep his voice level and that was only because he realised this man was only doing his job. “You can tell my father I've made a few life changing decisions. I haven't shared them with him because he wasn't prepared to listen. But the truth is I'm on a path I like better. 

There's a future I can look forward to now without thinking I'm finished as a person rather than as a business man.” 

Arthur swallowed angrily but then as he imagined his future his tone smoothed. 

“And hopefully, if he wants me one day, I'll have someone as special as Merlin to share it with.” He said that with as much passion as he had in him, wanting to make it clear to this man that there was no going back for him. “In view of that you can tell my father that I'm not going back to Albion.”

“He won't he happy,” Percival said. For such a big man it looked as though he dreaded passing the news on. “Not in the least.”

“But I will,” said Arthur. 

“Then I guess that's it.” Percival banged a hand on the table as if to indicate their talking session was over and got to his feet. “I can't force you to go back. Not really.”

Arthur privately thought the man strong enough to knock Arthur out and drag him back to London kicking and screaming but didn't say that to preserve his dignity. “No, you can't.”

Percival cleared his throat. “Seeing as my mission failed and I'm kind of tired after running around all day after the Army, I'll go look for a place to crash at then. And leave later today.”

Before Percival was out of sight, Arthur said, “Tell my father it's not him I'm rejecting, just his plans for me and... Thank you for saving us.”

Percival bobbed his head. “I couldn't have stood by and watched you and so many innocents die. It was the Army that really did the job.”

“Thank you all the same,” said Arthur. “Some would have washed their hands of this.”

“Never me.”

Percival's eyes widened, he scooped a hand through his hair and shifted his weight uncomfortably, like some kind on friendly giant who didn't know what to do with himself. 

“Well, then,” he said and left. 

Just as he did Merlin shuffled in. 

He looked done in, deep circles running under his eyes, his face drawn, his cheeks sunken, grey halos spreading under them. Yet he gave Arthur a sweet smile. He leant against the wall, his head drooping as he propped it against the whitewashed surface behind him. “Hello,” he said. 

“Hi,” Arthur said, tongue tied until he remembered that Merlin was back from talking with his father for the first time ever and that had to have been a momentous event. Unless you counted the hurried revelation from before the SW attacked, which Arthur didn't, Merlin had never known his dad, never talked to him. He had to be more than a little shaken. And Arthur wanted to know if he could help. “How did it go?”

“We talked a bit,” Merlin said, “about the most important things. You know, the big obvious ones. There's still ways to go.” He sheepishly forked a hand through his hair. “Mind if we go over this tomorrow? I think... I think what happened is so huge I'd better pore over it when I'm, you know, less dead on my feet.”

“Perfectly reasonable.”

Arthur waited for a bit but Merlin seemed not to be willing to say anything more. He tapped his foot against the base of the wall in a methodical way, his gaze lowered.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, not liking Merlin's hesitance one bit. There was something else Merlin wasn't telling him and Arthur didn't think it related to Balinor. “What's with you?”

Merlin's head whipped up, he gaped as if he couldn't believe Arthur had read him right, and opened his mouth a few times only to close it, speechless, colour creeping high up his neck. At last he said, “I hope you won't hate me for it but I heard what you said to the man that was here. The bit about me at least.”

Arthur stared up at Merlin, his own cheeks getting warmer and warmer. It wasn't how he'd pictured his confession to go: Merlin overhearing. He'd meant to impress him with a long, reasoned speech about how good they'd be together. A speech that would come when he was sure Merlin was ready to hear it. “You did.”

“Yeah,” said Merlin. 

Arthur's mouth went dry. “And?” 

“And I'm glad I heard what you said. It made me happy. Also, I want you to know that I would have fought for you if you'd decided to go back to your life without me.”

Merlin's words pierced his chest and a big, likely silly, smile bled onto Arthur's lips. “Really, you've... changed your mind? You want to...” Arthur made a sign indicating the two of them.

“Yeah,” said Merlin on a puff of breath. “Yeah. And I haven't changed my mind.”

Arthur's smile wavered.

“I didn't need to,” Merlin went on. “I've never not loved you. Well, I didn't love you the instant I met you. Like at the café. But you know... You... You've grown on me.” Merlin's smile grew a bit crooked but the look in his eyes got warmer. “It's just that I kept telling myself that it was impossible. And that I had to stop it. Stick to my cause because you'd be gone one day and then I'd have lost my chance at finding my dad. I was sure you'd go and I'd....” He opened and closed a fist. “Be left with nothing. Not even my life mission. I think that's why I fought it – us – so bad.”

Arthur's expression soured.

“But I was sabotaging myself all the time too. Wanting to impress you. Wanting to leave a mark on you. With everything I had.”

As Merlin's words slowly sunk in, Arthur's heart started hammering in his chest. Even as bone tired as he was, he pushed to his feet and deliberately walked over to Merlin. “You did. Leave a mark.”

Merlin inclined his head a little. “Then I'm happy I sabotaged myself,” he said.

They both leant in and their lips met in the softest of kisses – mouths closed, lips simply rubbing at each other, pressing, moving, a shyness to their actions that was more like testing the ground than anything they'd ever done before. 

Slowly, as their tentativeness diminished and their passion grew, the kiss changed. Their lips melted together. 

Merlin tilted his head back and his lips parted, granting Arthur's tongue access. Arthur sought Merlin's tongue with his, stroked it with his own, soft and wet, just as Merlin pushed back at him in little laps.

When Arthur drew back, his teeth scraped Merlin's bottom lip. Tenderly, he brought his hand up to caress Merlin's face and chuckled when stubble scraped his hand. They'd had a bad day after all and certainly had had no time to shave. 

Merlin smiled and leaned into the touch, a gust of air gushing out as he parted his lips. It was too tempting. Arthur grabbed the back of Merlin's neck and pulled him close, bringing their tongues together again.

Arthur loved tasting Merlin like this. God, how he'd missed him. Having this man in his arms, feeling him straining against him. He felt an aching hunger for Merlin that was seeded deep in his body. That had become a part of him, expanding in his chest until Arthur was sure he'd burst at the seams with it.

Energised by the turn of events, Arthur held the kiss as long as he could until they had to break apart for air.

Even so he was too hungry not to touch. His lips moved from Merlin's and he started kissing Merlin's neck, sucking the flesh in his mouth, his hands starting to move down Merlin's shoulders and arms, settling at his hips to yank him close.

They started grinding one against one another, arousal flashing through and inside Arthur the more the friction increased.

Merlin's warmth seeped through his clothes and through Arthur, his breath fanning Arthur's skin. 

They held each other tight, frantically, rolling their hips together until it hurt they were so hard. 

Everything else was shoved from Arthur's mind when Merlin dropped one arm to his belt buckle so he could unfasten it. 

Without hesitation, he unzipped the fly on Arthur's jeans and fumbled for his cock. When he got a viable hold of him, Merlin grasped him at the base and pumped him against his sweaty palm, making Arthur groan low in his throat. 

Arthur dug his fingernails into Merlin's shoulder. “Merlin, Merlin, I need more.”

Merlin looked at him with the same kind of heart-breaking expression he'd given when he'd very nearly sacrificed himself for Arthur. It was soft and loving, their eyes locking together for a long moment. “I've never made love to anyone I thought would stay,” Merlin said breathily. “I don't know how.”

“Let's learn together,” Arthur said, kissing Merlin again, only this time he was pushing Merlin off the wall and towards their sleeping quarters.

Fevered hands gripped shoulders, cupped heads, and roamed about, as they walked backwards into the nearest bedroom. 

Merlin undid Arthur's shirt while Arthur stepped out of his still muddy shoes. Then Merlin stepped back and away from him, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal a chest mottled with big bruises, one of them aubergine by now.

Arthur was stepping out of his jeans and socks when he noticed them. “Are you sure you don't want to postpone?” 

Merlin laughed. “Quite sure I want to go ahead,” he said, making a show of unbuttoning his jeans slowly, his prick poking out the moment his second button went. “Just maybe go easy on the ribs.”

Arthur nodded, letting his underwear pool to the floor.

Merlin gasped, fanning Arthur's pride. He shed the last of his clothes too and walked right into his arms.

With one arm tightly wound around Arthur's neck, Merlin drew Arthur to him, kissing his mouth open, his hands roaming down Arthur's back, their naked bodies plastered together by their fronts, cocks brushing one against the other as they shifted.

They started thrusting their hips, their cocks stiff and spilling pre-come that trickled down their sides. The slickness made everything better and just that little bit more heavenly. Out of lips still parted for a kiss Arthur said, “Do you want to do this standing?”

Merlin rained kisses down the side of his face until he reached his ears. “Maybe when I'm less battered,” he whispered. He put a kiss to Arthur's ear, which had Arthur shivering, took him by the hand and, walking backwards, led him to the bed.

It was a single bed and quite narrow at that but Merlin let himself fall on the thin strip of mattress, pulling him into his body.

So as not to hurt Merlin, who had taken a bit of a beating when they were captured, Arthur braced his arms on either side of his head. He covered Merlin's face with kisses. 

Merlin rocked their hips together, body getting shinier with perspiration, not heeding the bruises, just seemingly wanting more contact.

Arthur flexed his fingers around Merlin's hip, his mouth trailing downwards, working a path down Merlin's jaw and lower down still, licking at his Adam's apple.

At that Merlin's breathing picked up till it got syncopated and he tipped his head back, giving Arthur access to his throat, neck muscles straining, his whole body lifting off the bed as Arthur lavished all the attention he could on that area of his body.

“Erogenous zone?” Arthur asked, voice poised for humour but coming out quite raspy.

“Shut up,” Merlin croaked, hitting his arm.

Tonight Merlin was sensitive all over. When Arthur's lips made a trail down his throat Merlin gasped. And he arched when Arthur's hands made their journey downwards, travelling over Merlin's ribs and across his stomach.

Arthur glided his fingers across smooth, bare skin just as his mouth moved lower too, licking, touching, grazing.

As for Merlin he slid his hand to the hollow between his shoulder blades and pressed their bodies closer, pushing up into him, his legs falling open. His voice was a wreck when he said, “I want you to.”

Arthur's heart climbed to his throat. “It's not that I don't want to...” Hell, Arthur would do anything to be able to give that kind of pleasure to Merlin, to recreate what they'd had before in Rome. They were both tired and a little worse for the wear, so maybe they wouldn't perform as well as when they'd been having the time of their lives with every modern convenience at their disposal, but he did want to try. But logistics were logistics and penetration seemed out of the question. So he said, “I don't have anything. And are you really up for it?” He eyed Merlin's torso and its contusions.

“I'm fine. Those are nothing and I have a condom,” Merlin said. “Got it from the mission's doctor before getting back here.”

“So you were planning this?” Arthur asked, smiling. 

“I was hoping I hadn't lost you.”

“Why would you have? I'm crazy about you.”

“I--”

“Merlin,” Arthur said, mock put out. “don't you think it's time to tell me where you've hidden this magic condom of yours?”

Merlin bit his shoulder. “I haven't hidden it,” he said. “It's in my wallet that's in my jeans.”

Arthur reluctantly left the bed and an eagerly waiting Merlin to go get the condom. Having found it in a side compartment of Merlin's wallet, he padded back to the bed, cock bouncing.

Merlin snickered.

Arthur said, “No one's graceful parading about naked.”

Merlin wagged an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself. I'm kinda cute.”

“Ha, Ha.”

Even though the condom was lubed, Arthur had to use a fair amount of spit and tongue to open Merlin up. 

Merlin let totally go at that, becoming completely pliable and as unashamed as he used to be, arching his body off the bed and moaning at the suction, bucking into him with a strength and wildness Arthur wouldn't have thought possible after the day they'd had. The perfect hedonist.

When Merlin said, “I'm ready, go on, nothing more you can do,” Arthur slid back up and positioned himself. 

Both knackered and too eager, Arthur misaimed a little at first. Instead of homing in, his cock ended up nestled between Merlin's arse cheeks, butting against his balls, wrestling a soft noise from Merlin's throat despite the misfire.

Flushing hot all over Arthur tried again before the very tip of cock slid inside Merlin.

Sighing out loud, Arthur closed his eyes against the snug fit and the rush of pleasure. It was good. So unbelievably good his body wanted to just melt into it. Forget everything to be overwhelmed in physical bliss. But Arthur wanted to taste Merlin and the moment with everything he had. He wanted to take his time, savour the encounter, and make Merlin love it. Him. Love what their bodies were doing. But him most of all.

So he opened his eyes and looked at Merlin long and hard, taking him in, every little thing about him, about how he looked now, spread beneath him, cheeks flushed with the heat of sex, skin beaded with sweat, his smell raw in Arthur’s nostrils, his eyes blown wide with lazy pleasure.

Arthur wasn't sure any sight had ever made him feel hotter than this. 

“Are you...?” Merlin started. “Are you going to move?” 

“Yeah,” Arthur said, pushing until he'd bottomed out. 

Merlin's breath caught, just like the lip he trapped between his teeth, and he pushed back. 

The action got them into a slow rhythm that had Arthur rocking forward and Merlin reacting to it.

Their lower bodies pressed together they continued at a slightly quicker pace, with Merlin squirming, twisting his hips, tousling his hair, grabbing handfuls of his backside, as all the while Arthur gazed into his eyes, quite lost in them now that they were so dark and full of passion. Passion for him. 

The idea that Merlin was loving this made him grin cockily even as he pistoned his lower body forwards on the upstroke.

It wasn't just that though. In a way Arthur couldn't help the tenderness that built inside him, couldn't stop it from ratcheting up and sky-rocketing just as his pleasure did. It was taking him over as any baser instinct ever had.

He took to planting soft kisses on Merlin's face – forehead, cheekbones, nose, chin – not forgetting to tenderly stroke his dick. Working the pleasure out of him with every twist of his wrist or jerk of his hand. 

Merlin grasped him tighter, went wilder, forcing their pace, bucking, thrashing, breathing hard. 

Arthur concentrated on doing this right, his hips moving in determined, fast snaps, his hand milking Merlin to the same tempo of his thrusts and pulling a moan from his lips. 

Lips that Merlin had worried into plumpness, lips that called to Arthur like nothing else ever.

Arthur kissed Merlin, licking at his lips, at his teeth, his tongue plunging deep inside just as his cock was doing. 

He gave Merlin's prick, its head sodden with pre-come, one last tug. With a shiver and breathy exhalation, Merlin tipped his head to the side and spilled.

Seeing that tipped Arthur into orgasm, not even his determination to make this last a moment longer was enough to stop from tumbling into it. Lips apart, eyes half open, lids quivering, he just gave into it.

It was intense and the aftershocks had him tremble into Merlin's arms like a leaf in a gale, the sense of loss as he slipped out bittersweet.

Merlin gazed at him out of half shuttered eyes, his smile lazy and fond. “You weren't bad,” he said. “I might keep you.”

“Why thank you.” Arthur heavily rolled onto his back. “That's flattering.”

“It is, very.”

With a groan Arthur left the bed to throw the condom in the first waste bin he found. Then he scuttled back, the chilly air hitting his body like a slap on the face now that he was no longer enveloped in Merlin's warmth. “Besides, only might? I thought I was wonderful and you'd said you loved me and wanted to have me forever and ever...”

Merlin gave him a sleepy snort that sounded quite funny. “Forever and ever? Mmmm... I might if you perform well.” He paused, snorted again, and added, “Stud.”

“What about you?” Arthur asked, settling at Merlin's side, an arm slung heavily across him. “You should give as good as you get. It's a matter of fair play.”

“I'll perform brilliantly,” Merlin said. “I'll do you slow and nice till you're begging for it.” Merlin's bragging yielded to a yawn. “Later though. After I've had my nap. I really want nothing more than a long, long nap.” Merlin's eyes slipped closed as his mouth opened for a second, nearly jaw- dislodging yawn.

“Do,” Arthur said. “I'll claim my dues later.”

“We have all the time in the world,” Merlin mumbled before actually surrendering to sleep.

Arthur slowly leaned towards Merlin, dropped a kiss on his head and pulled away. “Sleep tight, Merlin,” he said, shifting until he found a position that would coax him too into dreams.

 

***** 

 

Merlin scattered kisses over the length of Arthur's neck. He rained more of them down his chest and stomach and over each quivering thigh. 

Relentless, he chased goose-flesh onto Arthur's skin, making Arthur's muscles cord with pleasure. And the expectation of it. 

Arthur was forever trying to predict where the next kiss would land only to establish that he was utterly incapable. He failed every single time, even when he was sure Merlin would touch him some place specific, some place obvious, the pleasure increasing because of the sheer unpredictability of Merlin's attentions.

Not knowing which part of him would be taken care of next just unmade him. Or made him aware of every pore in his body, every cell, every fold of skin. Aware in a way he'd never been before. He trembled. He shook. He sweated. And still Merlin would make love to him in the way he wanted to. Unpredictably. Passionately. With a dose of mischief. 

“Do you want to drive me crazy?” Arthur asked, his voice low.

“No,” Merlin said. “I'm just enjoying you after having missed you so long.”

“You're still driving me out of my mind.”

Merlin's smirk was outrageous. As if Arthur hadn't complained, he nosed the heated skin of his belly with slow intent, lapping at his navel, pushing into it with his tongue in jabs designed to torture him and hint at other pleasures. 

He kept doing this until his lips found the hard length between Arthur's legs. 

When he did, he kissed and licked around the head. Little arrows of fire shot through Arthur's belly and up his spine every time Merlin's mouth so much as grazed him. It was so good Arthur was coming undone. His cock bobbed against Merlin's swollen mouth and Arthur hardened even more. 

Indicating he wanted more than teasing, Arthur tangled his hands in Merlin's hair, holding him to him. He writhed and lifted his lower body off the mattress. If that wasn't indication of what he wanted, he didn't know what was. 

Still not entirely compliant, Merlin outlined his cock with his mouth, then took a bit of him, where it was hot and wet and perfect. 

Merlin's mouth on him felt viscerally good, For a moment there Arthur thought he was about to break down in tiny little pieces if Merlin didn't do more.

If Merlin didn't satisfy his desire to thrust and fill and reach his peak, Arthur would go mad Ignoring the fact that Arthur wanted nothing better than completion, Merlin went maddeningly slowly at it, sucking him in little by little until sweat broke all over Arthur's skin with renewed vigour.

“Merlin!” he shouted. But instead of complying, giving Arthur head like he wanted, Merlin drew back, tilting his chin in a defiant way. “You were saying?” he asked, as a person who'd lost the thread of a relatively unimportant conversation might, his tone cocky and conciliatory as he ignored Arthur's cock, which, spit wet and reddened, stood at attention an inch away from his face.

As it was, Arthur couldn't see straight out of frustration, so he took matters in his own hands. 

He flipped them and fitted himself to Merlin, careful, even through the haze of his lust, not to hurt him.

Arthur's breath was hot when he grumbled, “Stop teasing.”

Merlin pulled an innocent face, all wide eyes, but even so he took him in his hand and gasped and rubbed himself against him, his short, blunt nails at Arthur's side, Arthur's mouth on him, Merlin biting at his lips. 

Until a rattle-like sound remarkably similar to hurried knocking was heard.

Arthur wrenched his lips away from Merlin's mouth with a curse. “Fuck,” he said. “Is that the door?”

Merlin laughed. “Yeah, I think we can safely say that's the door.”

“Can we ignore it?”

“I don't think so,” Merlin said, regret and humour both featuring in his tones.

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

Cursing under his breath, Arthur heaved himself off Merlin. His erection was still there, some parts of him evidently still acting as though the game was still on. As he started stomping around the bed in search of his clothes, it started subsiding a little, not so much as not to be indecent but enough to make him think that if Merlin gave him time by getting the door himself, he'd be presentable if anyone came in. “I can't answer the door like this.”

“Neither can I.” Merlin's gaze flickered to his groin.

“Well, do something.”

Merlin pillowed his arms under his head. “I could say the same to you.”

“Merlin!”

A steepled eyebrow was Arthur's answer.

Grumbling, Arthur dove for his boxers and jeans, put them on, and padded barefoot to the door. He flung it wide open with more energy than was necessary.

Balinor stood on the other side of the newly open door, expression hard. He gave Arthur a severe and challenging once over, lingering on his hair, which was standing up in tufts, and chest, which was bare. “I presume Merlin's in?”

Arthur patted down his bed hair. “Yeah, he is. He's... He'll be happy to see you.”

Balinor emitted a gruff sound then he looked past Arthur and into the bungalow. 

“Oh,” Arthur said, making way for Merlin's father. “Please, come in.”

Balinor did, taking a seat at the table Arthur had entertained Percival around the day before. 

Arthur shouted a touch hysterically, “Merlin, your dad's here.”

Merlin's return shout was somewhat alarmed too. “Coming, having a bit of a wash first. Cause I stink. Because I'm all sweaty.” 

Merlin's voice grew more panicky. 

“Sweaty because despite the cold outside it's so hot in this room. No other reason.” 

Arthur heard a series of dull thuds coming from the single bedroom they'd both shared in spite of the lack of space. They were almost comical in natured, advertising how flustered Merlin really was.

Arthur would have shaken his head at how insincere Merlin had sounded too, but he didn't want to give their privacy away by admitting to the lie.

“Would you like something to drink?” Arthur asked Balinor, curbing his sense of discomfort at being half naked and clearly dishevelled before this serious, gruff man, who was, after all, the father of the man he'd been about to have sex with.

“You're my son's boyfriend,” Balinor said, not taking him up on his offer of refreshments. It was not a question.

Arthur made an effort to stand tall. “We haven't crossed the Ts, but yeah. I think. I hope.” A dark thought crossed his mind. “Why, do you disapprove?”

Balinor scoffed. “I'm hardly entitled to cast the first stone.” Balinor didn't refer to the fact he'd been a Franciscan and had broken his vow of chastity but it was the elephant in the room. “And that's not what I said anyway.”

“That doesn't mean anything,” said Arthur. “You may not judge but...”

“I have nothing against you in principle,” said Balinor. “And before you go on and accuse me of sharing in the church's bias against same sex couples, I'll tell you that I don't believe in that tenet. My faith is in God.” Balinor's eyes went to his, spearing him through and through with their frank scrutiny. “But if you're not right for my son--”

Merlin bumbled into the room, soberly dressed, his hair combed into a more severe variation of his usual hairstyle. “He's right. Arthur's right for me.”

Balinor subjected Merlin to as close a scrutiny as the one he'd put Arthur through. “I just hope you know your own mind,” Balinor said.

Merlin crept closer, steps small and unsteady. He ignored Balinor's allusions to himself and Arthur and chose instead to question his principles. “Is that why you left my mum? Because you didn't know your mind?”

His hand cradling his forehead, Balinor placed his elbow on the table. “I guess you asking such a question is my punishment for having made the choice I made.” His shoulders shook; his fingers twitched. “But to answer your question. I loved your mother. I might not have known about you but you weren't born of a mistake.”

Merlin took another step towards his father, his hand reaching for the back of a chair he didn't pull to him. “Then why didn't you stay?”

“I made a promise to God and I still believe in him.”

“But you left the church.”

Balinor smiled his kindest smile to date. It was fleeting but there. “But not God. Leaving the church was something I owed my superiors and the congregation. I couldn't continue as I had. I'd have been a hypocrite. And I could never have been a model. Do as I say but not as I did. I couldn't have behaved like that. I could never have offered guidance and counsel to those in doubt with my track record. I had to leave.”

Merlin flopped into his chair. “I guess... You're not coming back to Wales, are you? You're not visiting mum?”

“What good would it do if I did?” Balinor asked. “My life is this.” He gestured at the space around them. “This mission. And the next one and the next.”

“But--”

Anger hung around the edges of Balinor's words. “Would it help her? Would it give her happiness?”

“How do you know it wouldn't?”

“To her I'm an old wound. It's been so long. Let her move on.”

Merlin's face got an ugly red; his eyes filled with the shadow of tears. He wasn't crying but Arthur could tell that was just because he was holding it all in. He was trying to act tough.

Arthur guessed it was his turn to swoop in and pick up the pieces of Merlin's broken heart. He wouldn't intrude, just maybe say something that'd make Merlin smile. 

“But that doesn't mean I'm rejecting you,” Balinor said before Arthur could offer a kind word. “You're my son. A piece of me. And one that I'm responsible for.”

“I can look after myself,” Merlin shot back. “I've always done it.”

“I know,” Balinor said, picking himself up to go and put a hand on Merlin's shoulder. “And I'm proud of you. You have courage, lad, and a big heart. You're the best of me.” 

Balinor crouched at Merlin's feet and reached the tips of his fingers to Merlin's cheek, no longer gruff and rough. “You're the best of me. My refusal to go back to Wales with you has nothing to do with you. I cannot burden Hunith with my presence again. It wouldn't be right. But we'll be seeing each other again, have no doubt.”

When Merlin threw himself in his father's arms with a big, earth shattering sob, Arthur retreated to their shared room.

Their reconciliation wasn't for Arthur to see. Arthur had stayed for as long as he'd thought that Merlin would need his support. It was clear he didn't at the moment. It was time to efface himself.

He closed he door behind him, marched to the en-suite, and started the shower, making sure the sound of the jet was so deafening it would be impossible for him to overhear anything that was being said in the other room. 

When he re-emerged, Balinor was gone, but Merlin, though emotionally wrung out, looked happy, a smile on his lips Arthur had never seen before.

“Mind if we stay the week?” Merlin asked. “So I can get to know my dad a little?”

Arthur's hands went to Merlin's hips and he kissed his nose. “Of course I don't mind. I can do with some down time too.”

Merlin gave him a quick kiss. “There's something that's making you frown though.”

Arthur ran a hand up Merlin's arm, kneading his shoulder when he found the bone. “No, I'm fine. I'm happy for you. I'm fine.”

“When someone says they're 'fine' they're not really fine.”

“It's just that when this is over... What's next?”

“I suppose England's next,” Merlin said. “I mean you probably want back. And I want to be wherever you are.”

“Really?” The word came out as more of a screech.

“Yeah, really.” Merlin briefly took his lips in a kiss, making an uncontrollable smile flare on Arthur's lips. “I think I'm done running around. So I'm for doing whatever you want to do. Though when we're a little more settled I'll probably visit my mum to tell her I found dad.”

Laughing boisterously, Arthur lifted Merlin off his feet and spun him round until, they both toppled to the floor, Merlin sprawled on the kitchenette's tiles, Arthur struggling inelegantly on top of him.

When they'd stopped flailing on the floor, Arthur said, “That's great because I might have plans. Brilliant plans. For the future. Plans that involve you too.”

"I'm all ears."

"When the time comes," Arthur said. He was on top of Merlin and he didn't want to miss the opportunity. They'd think later. Now he wanted to touch Merlin even though sex on tiles was less comfortable than it might have looked.

 

****

During their week of down time, Merlin spent some quality time with his father, helped him with the mission, had long discussions with him and basically tried to make up for the years he'd spent not having known Balinor. 

The two didn't always get along that Arthur could see, Balinor's short temper and solitary nature making him snap at times, Merlin hurting at the rejection more than he should have since even Arthur had figured out that nothing would change Balinor.

Balinor's snappishness seemed to be a part of his character and a very fundamental one. A side of him that couldn't be changed or overlooked. But still they plodded on with their relationship. Both insecure. Both willing to give it a try despite not having a clue as to how to reinvent themselves in these new roles. 

Father and son.

One evening Merlin told him that he still didn't have a handle on his father and that he sometimes thought Balinor didn't know what to do with him either. Which was why Balinor often fell silent, switched the subject to the mission or, failing either, sent Merlin on chores for Father Nguyen.

As if he could transform his perceived failures into positives.

“I think it's his way of bridging the gap,” Merlin said.

“At least he wants to,” Arthur observed. He wasn't an expert on fathers, his own relationship with his baffling at times, but he still thought that a positive trait that Balinor had.

And his father didn't.

“Yeah, I suppose I should give him time. It's not every day that you find out you have a grown up son. So I should make it easy for him. Act as though I haven't noticed that he's... embarrassed by me.”

“He's not,” Arthur said, taking Merlin's hand. “He's adapting.”

As Balinor and Merlin 'adapted' to their respective roles, days flew quickly by, more so for Merlin, who was busy chasing his dad up and down in an attempt to know him, a little less so for Arthur, who, for lack of better employment, used up some of his time helping father Nguyen with the mission's account books. 

Since he was good at those he figured it would be nice to lend a hand.

Father Nguyen blessed him for 'his kindness' on more than one occasion, making Arthur blush, stammer and say, “It's nothing, Father.”

At least account books weren't a horrible pastime in view of what he was planning for his future.

The afternoon following Father Nguyen's effusion – two days before they were due to leave – found Arthur and Merlin sitting on a bench not far from their bungalow. 

Enjoying a rest from their usual duties with either Balinor or the Head of the Mission, they settled into watching the mission's kids at play. They were intent on a traditional game. Or so Anh, one of the mission's inhabitants, said. 

“Traditional as in old?”

“Yes, there are prescribed roles in this game.” Anh pointed at the children facing each other. “One of the children is a 'doctor',” she said. “The other is the dragon snake, a mythological figure. The script of the game says that the 'dragon' must state why he wants to see the doctor. 

When prompted by the doctor, the dragon will say he's looking for medicine which will serve to cure his son, who's ill. The doctor will ask how old the dragon's son is.” She tipped her chin at the children playing the role of doctor and dragon respectively. “Ah there they are; they've reached that part of the script." She smiled at the kids. "He's one," she translated for the kid playing the dragon.”

The children had in fact started an exchange that seemed to follow a ritual, questions quickly fired and answers as quickly given. 

Anh continued explaining what was going on to Arthur and Merlin. “The doctor asks the same question again and the dragon answers but with variations. He's two. 

When given that answer, the doctor says he isn't well and that he can't help. He's three, the dragon says. The doctor says he isn't well and can't help. He's five. The doctor's still not well. It's meant to go on like this.

Until the answer changes to, 'He's ten'. When the dragon says that the doctor's answer changes too.”

The children were in fact chanting words that might have been a rhyme or a ritualised script.

Anh interpreted for them again:

“Give me your head,” said the doctor.

The other kid answered, “Nothing but the bones.”

The rhyme continued until the 'dragon' shouted, “Pursue at will”

A game of tag between the children began, the doctor trying to catch the dragon. 

The children formed a line, the child at end representing metaphorically the dragon's tail, the kid who was the dragon's 'head' trying to stop the 'doctor' from touching the dragon's tail. 

To prevent him he tried to form the other children into a perfect circle.

“If they manage to close the circle before the doctor touches the dragon's tail, then the dragon's won,” said Anh.

Watching the game unfold and finding it much more interesting now that he knew what it was about, Arthur asked, “What happens if the doctor gets the dragon?”

“The other children in the group lose,” said Anh. “The winner gets to slap the losers' hands at will although it's all in good fun and you can start again right off the bat. With new losers and winners.”

“Cool,” Merlin said. “I've always loved dragons.” He looked longingly at the children playing. “I guess they won't let me join in, will they? Too old and all that?”

Anh laughed. “I'll ask for you.”

Anh did. She translated for Merlin, asking the children if they wanted an adult companion. The children shouted in chorus, nodding their heads. Arthur took it to mean that they were allowing Merlin to take part in their game. 

Anh once again translated for Merlin and Merlin beamed at the children, evidently glad he'd been accepted in their midst.

Before he could start Merlin was taught the words he'd need to take part in the shenanigans. He repeated them quickly and the children smiled at him in approval. Merlin was already on their good side.

The kids were already dragging him by the hand, putting him at the rear of the line that was forming so the game could start again. 

Before committing to the game, Merlin gave him a thumbs up sign, then he was lost to the competition.

Wanting to enjoy Merlin having fun, Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, stretched his legs in front of him and watched Merlin as he took part in the children's antics.

He was good at the game, never missing the right words and cues even though he'd just learnt them by heart, making his team win thanks to his enthusiasm – and long legs.

Arthur was startled by someone clearing their throat. Hiding how startled he was, he turned and made out Balinor standing at his side, his pose mirroring Arthur's. “He's playing Rong Ran.”

“Is that the name of the game?” said Arthur. “All I know is that Merlin's currently posing as a dragon – or its tail.”

“Yes, that's the name of the game.” Balinor sat next to him. “He's good at this.”

“Merlin has a talent,” Arthur said, his head angled towards Balinor while he spied Merlin out of the corner of his eyes. “He makes people love him.”

“Do you?” Balinor asked quickly, avoiding Arthur with his gaze even though his eyes followed Merlin's involvement in the game quite intently. 

It was a pity Merlin didn't know that Balinor was finally so intent on him that he couldn't take his eyes off him. 

Merlin was too busy shouting and laughing with the kids to see that his father had 'found' him. 

Yet Arthur was now positive that one day they would both 'look' at the same time and reconnect. They were almost there. Both looking for the other at different times.

“Yeah,” said Arthur. “I do.”

“My son's a good man,” said Balinor. “I hope you deserve him.”

“Me too. I want to do my best by him. And before you say wishes are horses, I'm determined to. To make us work and be a good partner for him.”

Balinor grunted. “You're going away.”

“In two days,” Arthur confirmed, the kids' clamour rising as another phase of the game drew to a close. “You're going to miss him.”

Balinor didn't address that. “Before you go,” he said, “I'd like to take you to see the Ban Gioc waterfalls.”

Arthur guessed that Balinor wanted to make a memory with his son before he left. But he didn't say that. He was positive by now that Balinor wasn't the type to parade his feelings or to say anything that would sound even remotely sentimental. “I'll tell him,” he said.

“You're invited too,” Balinor told him, before he pushed off the bench to go pursue his daily schedule.

That night, folded into the same tiny bed, Arthur told Merlin, “Your father wants to take you to see some waterfalls.” Arthur gave a peck to Merlin's lips. “And I'm to come too.”

Merlin traded a kiss for a kiss. “Do you think... Do you think he likes me? You know. I'm his son but that doesn't mean he has to like me as a person.”

“I think Balinor is a fairly direct man; if he didn't like you or didn't want you around he'd drive you to the nearest airport himself.”

Merlin hiccupped a laugh. “Sometimes you're pretty direct yourself.”

The day they'd scheduled for their outing rose cold but cloudless. Balinor drove them north himself.  
Unlike Bingh, he didn't comment on the scenery nor did he act as their guide. He steered in silence, careful of the road, but with an eye to making good time.

After they'd arrived, they left the car in the deputed area and plodded down the scenic route. 

At first Arthur was too preoccupied with keeping pace with Balinor's brisk march to see the beauty in the environment around him. But when they stopped, Balinor pointing out, “That's the border with China,” his breath was taken away by the sheer majesty of the scene.

He was a little bit in awe.

Water gushed into a green pool formed by the confluence with the river. 

Its waters sparkled emerald when the sun hit them just right. Mountains loomed high and higher behind the falls while rocks formed natural steps that allowed the water to crash down like thunder, hitting the cliffs powerfully, its drumming sound echoing round and round.

A spray of water droplets almost floated on the air, a wall of mist hovering over the river, which was as calm as glass, its banks surrounded by an amazing variety of flowers.

Flowers of every species and shape and colour. Flowers like a hymn to the heavens above. Fragile flowers. Sturdy flowers. Seasonal flowers. Arthur wasn't sure he'd seen anything like this before.

Merlin expressed it rather well when he said, “It's magnificent.” 

“God's work,” said Balinor. “The reason why I couldn't let you go without seeing this first.”

Merlin's smile spread from ear to ear as he saw a rainbow bridge over river and rock. “That's the reason you're staying,” he said, his tone gentle, accepting, a touch sad.

“No,” Balinor said, surprising both Merlin and Arthur. “This is my gift to you. Beauty without thorns.”

“I don't--”

“This is the future you can have. Unlike me. Beauty without thorns.” Balinor shot Arthur a probing look. “If you fight for it."

“I--”

Balinor shook his head, though not in reproof. “Nature says it better than I ever could. I'm a man of few words, Merlin.”

They spent the day by the riverside, watching rafts cross over to China, the colour of the water change according to the angle of the sun, and children spear-fish the famous 'Tram Huong'.

After a good half hour spent observing them with a glint in his eyes, Merlin himself rolled up his trousers and, despite the forbidding chill of the water, joined in, proving surprisingly adept at the activity. 

Until Arthur, feeling he had to prove his worth, attempted to participate too. 

He did up the hem of his trousers, borrowed a spear, and set to work.

He got nothing, no fish, not even a small specimen let alone one to be proud of, while Merlin filled the kids' basket with plenty of fish. 

His father liking to rub shoulders with the aristocracy, Arthur had been invited to the odd hunting weekend or two back in England. He'd deer hunted. Fox hunted. Hunted for small game. He could safely say he'd always acquitted himself decently. This – this failure of epic proportions was unprecedented.

“My feet are cramping from the cold,” Arthur complained.

“No such thing,” said Merlin, giving him a playful shove. “You're just miffed you haven't caught anything.”

“Look at me,” Arthur pouted as another underwater flash of scales mocked him with its silvery swiftness, “my lips are blue with cold.”

“Say rather green with envy.”

Arthur splashed Merlin, Merlin lost his makeshift wooden spear, the boys around them started nudging each other, and Merlin took to splashing back in retaliation.

Even though soaked through and through and in a region of the world where the climate wasn't anywhere near mild, Arthur flung his head back and gave a peal of laughter.

His heart was light. He felt as though his feelings could soar high, as high as the azure sky above them. The sky above the waterfalls that sang their rhythm all around them.

Perhaps the spear-fishing hadn't been a wholly bad idea.

Wet as both Merlin and Arthur were, Balinor refused to drive them back until they were dry again, something about needing the car for the mission and hating wet upholstery. 

Only half dry, Merlin managed to sneak into the car first, sending the heating into hyper-drive so it could chase the chill from his bones. 

Arthur could safely admit to harbouring feelings of envy right now. He could do with car-heating. He definitely could. Only his clothes seemed more resistant to drying than Merlin's.

And Balinor was opposed to him getting the seats wet.

Before Arthur could climb behind, Balinor stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. For a second Arthur thought he would rant about the upholstery again but soon saw that wasn't to be the case.

“I can see it,” he said. “I can.”

Arthur was sure that had nothing to do with the car, but couldn't say what it had been about. He'd always asked for clarification when in doubt but when Arthur asked Balinor to further articulate what he meant he was refused an answer.

He never got it either.

On the day they were due to leave neither Arthur nor Merlin saw anything of Balinor. 

“It's his way,” Father Nguyen said as he slowly walked them to the car that would take them to the airport. “He's not a man for goodbyes.”

Merlin braved a smile. “I would have liked to have a word with him though.”

“I think he believes he's said what needed to be said.”

Merlin shook his head thoughtfully. “I don't know. He might not have had anything to add. But there's things I would have liked to say. I'd have said... I'd have said I'm so happy I have him now.”

They'd reached the car and all stopped before climbing in. Arthur and Bingh, who'd come to chaperone them back, busied themselves with what little luggage he and Merlin had while Father Nguyen took Merlin aside to say, “He knows that. In his heart. And I'm sure your heart is telling you the same. There's nothing else that matters.”

Merlin hugged the embarrassed cleric, his voice a little less than steady when he said, “Tell him that I'm so glad I've got to know him.”

Father Nguyen said, “You'll be able to tell him yourself soon enough. He's not staying here forever, you know.”

“I know. I mean I hope so.” Merlin coloured. “Not that I wish you had less help but he's...” Merlin trailed off so as not to embarrass himself.

Father Nguyen chuckled benevolently, in the way some old men do, rich and gentle, the weight of years behind it.

They all said their goodbyes and, once they had, folded themselves into the car. 

When Bingh drove away Merlin turned in his seat to look back, the mission dwindling already, the children, some of whom had taken to chasing the car, dropping back as they waved. 

Merlin waved back just as enthusiastically. Watching Father Nguyen retreat, though, he sighed, the smile Merlin had reserved for the kids vanishing. 

But then a man appeared, there in the distance, already made small by its increasing quantity. The man raised his hand in salute. 

Balinor. It had been Balinor.

“He came,” Merlin murmured. “He came after all.”

They slept on the flight back to London. They should have discussed plenty of things: living arrangements, their idea of the future, even their plans for the next forty-eight hours, but they were too wrecked – both emotionally and physically – to do anything but nod off once they were seated.

Their journey had been too eventful for them not to.

Though they'd agreed that Merlin would sleep at Arthur's that night, they hadn't yet managed to say much to each other when it came to other aspects of their relationship.

Merlin had come back to England with him, they were together, but that didn't mean they'd turn into live-in partners right off the bat. Though Arthur wanted it.

Arthur figured they'd specify where they stood once they'd seen to the rituals attending landing. But they’d claimed their baggage back and hit arrivals without saying anything purposeful.

Arthur was rehearsing what he'd say and pushing his suitcase past the throngs of airport passers-by when he saw a man in the arrivals lounge, tall, grey haired, shoulders thrown back with an air of command. 

“Father,” he murmured, stopping short, so that Merlin walked right into him.

“What's the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Arthur said, rooted to the spot. “Just-- That's my father.

“Oh,” Merlin said, face falling. “You probably don't want me around when you two--”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur said, not brusquely at all. “You heard what I told Percival.”

Merlin's head drooped. “Yeah, but seeing the man in the flesh might have changed your mind.”

Arthur snorted. “Man of little faith,” he said.

Merlin looked up, hope in his eyes. 

Arthur nodded subtly, rolled his shoulders, and stalked up to his father. 

“Father.” It was an acknowledgement. As warm a one as he could manage given how cold and unflinching his father had been over the past few years, especially when they'd discussed his future. “I suppose your PI told you, but it bears repeating. I'm not relenting. I'm not taking up my old life again.”

Father's face went from rigid, muscles frozen in that obstinate and impenetrable set of his to broken in a moment flat. 

He advanced, took Arthur by the shoulders, embraced him, exhaled as though content, and said, “Just ten days ago I got a call from my PI saying that you had been kidnapped by terrorists and that your life was in danger.” 

Arthur heard Father swallow just as he saw his Adam's apple go down and then up. 

“The news was confirmed by the printed press and the BBC. Those terrorists' threats were leaked. A hostage each hour.” 

Father paused, his gaze penetrating Arthur as it never had before, not even when Father was reprimanding him. The power and intent behind it though seemed to be entirely different and born of different passions. 

“I spent ten hours thinking I'd lost you.” His father shoved him back though his grip – now arm's length – on Arthur's shoulders wasn't any less tenacious. “Frankly, I don't care about anything else right now. I'm just thankful you're here. You're my son, Arthur. You're my son.”

Arthur had been expecting anything but this. “So you don't want me to become Albion's vice president?”

He'd prepared a speech about how his life needed to change and had been prepared to make it the moment he met Father. He'd believed he'd make it the moment Father allowed him back in his presence. Given how Arthur had left he'd thought that day would be long in coming.

“I wanted you to follow in my footsteps," Father said. "To continue my legacy. I'll admit, I wanted nothing more than that. It's been a life long dream of mine but some things pale in comparison.” 

Father took a moment to seemingly gather himself, sounding tired, though as stiff as ever. “A businessman knows when to bow out. You can do what you want with your future.”

Arthur tilted his head towards Merlin. “How about Merlin? I'm not leaving him for an heiress of your choice.”

Father snapped. “Oh for the love of God, Arthur. You can marry him if you're so determined. At least he has no criminal record. Though he's a financial disaster--”

“You had him investigated!” Arthur's indignation made heads turn.

Father's mouth thinned, his lips compressed till they were almost white. “Of course I have. It was my son and heir's future we were talking about. Now if you've had enough of making a spectacle of yourself, why don't you introduce me to this... person.”

Arthur said, “Father, please.” 

Father raised his eyes heavenward and shuffled impatiently. Arthur knew he wouldn't change his father's attitude overnight so he nodded in acceptance, turned his head, grinned, and gestured Merlin over. 

“Merlin, there's someone I'd like you to meet.”

 

**** 

Epilogue

 

“The land adjoining the Camelot Horse Farm is now yours,” said Ms Nemeth. “You just need to sign above the dotted line, there.” She tapped her pen on the paper in correspondence with the printed line and smiled amiably. 

Arthur took his pen, his lucky one, out of his jacket's pocket and signed. “Elena will be overjoyed,” he said.

“I'm glad you're expanding,” Ms Nemeth said. “My daughter loves that horse farm of yours.”

“I'm thrilled too,” said Arthur, capping the pen back again now that he'd signed. “Because this project is really something that's come from our hearts.”

Ms Nemeth's smile broadened. “Well, congratulations then.”

“Thank you for assisting us throughout the purchase and being always so available,” Arthur said, shaking hands with Ms Nemeth over the done deal.

“It's merely my job.”

Miss Nemeth and he both rose from their seats around the solid mahogany desk. Ms Nemeth accompanied him to the door, recommending her PA escort him down to the lifts, and shaking hands with him again.

Before said PA could get to him though, she said, “I'm going to be looking forwards to visiting the expanded farm.”

“In the same way that Ms Gawant and I will be looking forwards to showing you around,” Arthur said. “While Merlin will make sure you don't get bored with all the horse talk.”

“Merlin,” said Ms Nemeth, “isn't that your boyfriend? The one I met at your inauguration party last year, the one who defined you as a cross between the Black Prince of Wales charging on a destrier and Bill Cody on his Far West show?”

“The very same,” Arthur said, a grin spreading on his face. “Merlin has his own special brand of humour. And he's convinced I'm horse-obsessed.”

It was true. Arthur loved his farm. And he had to admit that during the year and a half it had taken them to get it off the ground he'd talked of almost nothing but Camelot, his plans for it, and his dreams for its future. Merlin had had reason to poke fun at him for his passion, though he probably didn't know that without his injections of optimism Arthur would have never made it. Would never have accomplished anything.

Camelot had become a reality because of Merlin. He'd been his day to day inspiration. His rock. His friend who boosted his morale when his morale needed boosting. 

He'd been the one person Arthur couldn't have done without.

Ms Nemeth returned his grin. “If I'm too meet him again, I'll be doubly anticipating the party you're giving to celebrate the expansion. Merlin is a very fun person.”

“He is.” Arthur couldn't help the wash of pride he felt every time someone praised Merlin. It wasn't as if he was in any way responsible for the way Merlin could charm people. Not at all. Merlin was just a natural at that. But he still was so invested in Merlin that he couldn't help the reaction. He almost wanted to tell the world, 'Look at him. Isn't he something?'

It wasn't as if he thought that other people's opinion of Merlin validated his choice of a partner though– he'd have been sure of wanting Merlin by his side in spite of the world around them if need be – but Merlin being approved of made him inordinately boastful all the same. 

His grin grew larger though he restrained it a little. There was still something he wanted to say and didn't want to look unhinged as he went about it.

“As for the party, I'll mail you the particulars,” said Arthur. “We want you there. Truly." He briefly curled his fingers around Ms Nemeth's arm. "Without your mediation Camelot wouldn't have come true.”

“It would,” said Ms Nemeth seriously. “All the same. Both you and Elena are so dedicated to this venture that you couldn't possibly have failed.”

“Without you it would have taken a lot longer,” Arthur said, knowing this was the absolute truth. He and Elena had been able to create Camelot and expand it because of the help of people like Mithian Nemeth. Without them they'd still be scrambling for a starting point. “We want to celebrate that too. Those who lent a hand.”

“Let me tell you it's all up to you two, nothing I did was ever as important as the effort you put in, but I'll be chomping at the bit to be at that party all the same, basking in your reflected glory, so to speak.”

Arthur left Ms Nemeth's office feeling that he'd achieved something big that day. One more building block had been put in place and his dream was so close to coming to a realisation that he could almost touch it, taste it, and yeah, why not, bask in it.

In order to share the news with both Elena and Merlin, Arthur hurried to catch the earliest train back, waiving like a madman to catch a cab that'd take him to the station in the shortest time possible.

But when after a train and bus ride, he made it back to the house – a construction on the Camelot farm estate they had slowly renovated – Arthur couldn't find Merlin anywhere.

He searched the house from attic – Merlin loved dusty places – to pantry (and he also loved raiding every storage facility for food) but still couldn't find him. He wasn't worried. Merlin's work hours were unpredictable at best. Besides, Merlin had made plenty of friends in the vicinity, basically within a 25 mile radius, so he might have dropped in on one of them for a chat. 

His absence wasn't so out of the ordinary as all that. For all that people told them they made a sweet couple when they weren't bickering they weren't exactly attached at the hips either.

Still, Arthur's shoulders drooped with disappointment at Merlin's not being there. He wanted to share the brilliant news he'd been sitting upon all afternoon and had nobody to do it with. Not his life partner, not his business partner, and not even his London friends. 

He might text their clients, sharing the happy news, but he didn't think they'd be as overjoyed as he was at the prospect of the now possible expansion. They weren't investors. Why should they care?

Camelot had been entirely funded by Arthur and Elena. 

He could tell his father but he wasn't sure that was the best of ideas. 

Father had accepted Merlin – though he still tended to call him 'that person', and had come to terms with Camelot Farm being there, though he wistfully talked about Albion's vice-presidency as though he might entice Arthur back to it one day after all – but he still wasn't the person to go to when Arthur had just managed to close a deal that would make Camelot that much more permanent.

In walking up to the house, he hadn't caught a glimpse of Elena either even though her last lesson was to end at six. He'd hoped she'd still be around. Though she still lived in her own ancestral manor, she often dined with them at the house here at Camelot. Sometimes she even stayed overnight, preferring not to drive home because she said her own place was boring and not worth the commute hassle.

In short, he'd expected her to be there and for her bumbling enthusiasm to overwhelm him the moment he arrived.

Instead he'd been left to stew in his own juices.

There was nothing for it. He was alone, the house was empty, his schedule was clear and he needed to kill the time till he could come to share his news. 

Before he could drive furrows in the floor for pacing, he'd decided he'd go riding. 

A little over-excitedly, he changed into proper gear, putting on riding boots and grabbing his helmet before going out again.

The early evening was splendid and the summer sun hadn't gone down yet. He'd take Thunder out.

Thunder understood his moods in a way no animal should. Thunder knew how to humour him and how to turn his grumpy moods to childish excitement. He was what Arthur needed right now. 

His was a brilliant plan too. He would go for a gallop, shed his pent up emotions, and manage to achieve a measure of calm again. He was sure that by the time he was done he would find Merlin had returned. And then they'd celebrate the closing of the deal. They'd have wine, microwave Arthur's favourite curry dish, and then they'd have the night to themselves.

Arthur would kiss Merlin senseless, slowly strip him naked, pull him on top and let him take him apart. They'd go at it until their muscles complained and their bodies gave up. They would be extravagant about it, not sleeping at all and celebrating by way of slow sex and scorching kisses. That would be the perfect way to go about welcoming their future.

Full of these thoughts and fantasies, Arthur stomped uphill on his way to the stables, lashing his boots with his riding whip, but stopped short at the horses' pen. 

Although partly hidden by the natural gradient of the ground himself, he could still make out what was going on in the pen.

Elena hadn't gone back home tonight after all. She was riding Dantés, their Lusitano. This wasn't something particularly worthy of notice. Elena loved that horse and had plans to breed him with Estella, the new mare they were both so proud of. What made Arthur double check that his vision was working fine wasn't the sight of Elena on horseback. That was their daily fodder. 

It was the fact that Merlin was mounting Adagio, their seal-brown Norman cob. 

Adagio was the sweetest horse in creation, his name an appropriate descriptor of his character, but Merlin wasn't exactly made for riding horses. He was terrible at it. Like really, honestly crap at it. Arthur suspected not even Adagio could cure Merlin of his saddle stiffness. 

Yet there Merlin was, driving the horse round the pen at a canter, Elena instructing him while providing a live example on how to do it. Her hands on approach had always been the best of the best. Guaranteed to work on everyone, little kids included.

Though Merlin was probably another matter entirely.

“You should move in your seat more naturally,” she said, assessing Merlin's efforts. “Go with your horse's motion.”

“I'm trying!” said Merlin, holding on the reins too tightly, a tendency Arthur would have corrected and curbed right there, and even sternly perhaps, if he had been in Elena's shoes. The fact was that Arthur was a little prim about riding styles. Which was also why Elena was Camelot's teacher.

“It's not so easy,” Merlin was going on. “You said I'd be able to ride within two weeks. So I could show Arthur and make him proud.”

“I overestimated some things,” said Elena over the noise of Dantés' hooves. Her horsemanship was perfect, as usual. Arthur had never known a better or more confident rider than her. And she was prudent too, especially when in teacher mode.

He'd have worried about Merlin if she hadn't been. Actually, considering Merlin's shortcomings, he'd have interrupted the lesson if anyone but Elena had been imparting it.

“You mean me!” said Merlin sheepishly. Adagio tried to push his rider to go faster even though Merlin was making noises at him that Arthur thought were supposed to mean, 'Halt'.

“Just move your arms in time with Adagio's gait,” said Elena. “He'll tell you what to do. And, oh, keep your elbows light.”

“I'm trying,” Merlin gritted out. “But at this rate I'll never impress Arthur. He thinks I'm crap at this, which is true, and that I won't make the effort for him. Which is untrue. Because I do want to.” Adagio shied from under him, going left when Merlin was pulling at the bridle hoping Adagio would veer right.

“I want this to be my 'I'm happy you got your dream farm and I want to share it with you' present, but it doesn't seem to be working.”

Adagio, did in fact, backtrack – unusual for a horse – when Merlin spurred him forward.

Elena said a bit despairingly, “Just copy me, all right?”

“Easier said than done,” muttered Merlin.

“We'll surprise Arthur yet,” said Elena determinedly.

It was then that Arthur interrupted them. A shit eating grin on his face, he trudged up to the pen and leant his elbows against the railing, his weight against it. It'd hold. He'd built it with his own hands. “Hello, Merlin,” he said. “Elena.”

Adagio whinnied, Merlin exclaimed, “Arthur!” and Elena led her own horse to the fence. In greeting Dantés snorted and licked Arthur's hand. 

As he patted Dantés' muzzle, Arthur said, “I thought you'd left me derelict and alone instead here you were keeping secrets from me.” Arthur arched an eyebrow at Merlin's deficient seat. “Really, Merlin? I thought you'd come to me for riding lessons.”

Merlin blanched. “You're offended, aren't you? You are. Shit, Arthur. It was just meant to be a surprise!”

“It was actually romantic,” said Elena. “That's why I'm teaching him. Here Merlin is, pledging his love for you and how he wants to stay by your side, being your true partner in everything--”

Merlin cut her off, “Putting life and limb in peril, might I add.”

Elena finished for him, in tune with Merlin's moods as always, “And you're pouting because we kept it secret! We should 'Really, Arthur' you actually.”

Arthur laughed, a foot on the lowest rung of the fence, his head thrown back. “You still can't tell when I'm taking the piss,” he said, tears in his eyes. He dabbed at them but his eyes were plenty wet. 

Adagio trampled the ground under his hooves, going sideways against Merlin's wishes. Dantés whimpered, as though reproaching his equine companion, while Elena snorted louder than any horse. 

Merlin just said, “It's just that you have a knack for sounding like your father.”

Arthur granted him that with a nod. He was a Pendragon through and through, even though he wasn't at Albion's helm anymore. Some of that, the attitude, would never wash off. “Still, riding? I'm touched, Merlin.”

“Really?” Merlin asked, all hopeful, eyes sparkling in the way they generally did before Merlin kissed him once they were alone, no preying eyes around. That look made Arthur's daydreams about their upcoming night together look less far fetched than ever. “As in... you approve?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur, even though Adagio was doing his very best to prove Merlin a shit rider by drifting off and away from the fence of his own volition. “I approve. Because... Well, because it's even more confirmed than it was before.” Arthur lent his voice an excited undertone to make Merlin and Elena participate in the revelation. “Camelot is going to be our bread and butter for the foreseeable future. I pulled off the deal. As of today Elena and I are the proud owners of Mr King's land, which will adjoin ours, and facilitate the farm's expansion.”

Elena screeched. “Yessss,” she exclaimed, all sibilants. Then she sobered for a moment, lips pursed in doubt. “I thought we were still in talks about that.”

Arthur had to admit that he'd kept the prospect of a happy resolution of their business deal secret in order to surprise Elena. She was the one who ran the farm, gave riding lessons, sampled the new purchases, and oversaw the day to day management of Camelot, while Arthur administered Camelot's finances. 

As long as King had kept being reticent about closing the deal, Arthur had preferred not to advertise how close they actually were to signing it. That way he wouldn't disappoint Elena if they failed to agree on terms that were acceptable to both King and Camelot. And so he'd have this ace up his sleeve to surprise Elena and Merlin with in case they came to an agreement.

He smiled his satisfaction. “No, it's done. We're the proud owners of the stretch of land that used to belong to Olaf King and can now expand.”

“I'd kiss you if I could dismount without Elena's help,” Merlin said.

For a moment Arthur really wished Merlin was more proficient at horse riding.

Elena just screeched her “Yippie, Ya, Yayes” as though she was Calamity Jane, while Arthur...

Arthur said, “Get off your horses, so we can celebrate. I suppose we could uncork a bottle of Champagne!”

 

The End.


End file.
